


Conditioning

by KPP (mad2Bhere)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Collars, Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Exhibitionism, Jealousy, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Violence, Shotgun Wedding, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wedding Night, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad2Bhere/pseuds/KPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where all mages are pliant, submissive creatures just waiting to be claimed by a strong alpha like Garrett, the eldest Hawke sibling is the only one who is uncomfortable with his role.</p>
<p> <i>Out of nowhere the words of his father came back to him, spoken to him as a warning so many years ago. Today, in front of a mage about to go into heat, they sounded more like an instruction.</i><br/><i>"We crave the humiliation, the pain. The worse you treat us, the more we will be drawn to you. There are many ways to break a mage, but the surest one is to remind him how powerless he is against dominance."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Positive Reinforcement

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Need to Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/492453) by [xxMad_Donaxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxMad_Donaxx/pseuds/xxMad_Donaxx). 



> Contains alpha/beta/omega dynamics.  
> Seriously, look that up before continuing to read this fic. (http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega )
> 
> I actually wanted to finish the whole thing first before posting it, but then started wondering whether the whole premise was simply too weird.  
> Please let me know if this is worth continuing.

"Why did you become a templar?"

It wasn't always the first question they asked, but Garrett knew every person he would meet from now on was bound to bring it up sooner rather than later.

Naturally he had prepared an answer in advance. Several, in fact. Depending on who asked him he was ready to play a different role.

After twenty-six years of protecting his father's and his sister's secret, lying came to him as naturally as breathing.

Most people accepted the story of the poor Fereldan farm hand who had to abandon his home because of the Blight, and now needed to find a new source of income to support himself and his mother. It had surprised him as well, but the decently sized pouches of coin he received monthly were nothing to laugh at; he spent only what he had to, saved the rest, and after just three months of being a templar he had accumulated more money than he had ever seen in his life.

Others favored the tale of the naive little boy who had always dreamed of becoming a knight like the ones that appeared in every other fairy tale, brave and righteous, the kind that went around saving maidens from dragons and kittens from trees. Of course, the life of a templar had included very little dragons and kittens so far, but perhaps that would change once he was no longer a mere recruit. Garrett told that version with self-deprecating humor, using it as an ice-breaker to get others to lower their guard around him. Until now this had proved to be a prudent and advantageous tactic; yet the lie which was usually best received was a different one.

In a religious city like Kirkwall many people adored him for his story about the friendship he had developed with a devout Chantry sister back in Lothering. After watching an ogre smash her frail body against the walls of the Chantry, he – saddened by her death and enraged at the blasphemy – chose to heed her dying words and serve the Maker in his own way.

This tale was probably the most difficult one to tell; even though it was the one farthest from the truth there was a little detail he had taken from his own experience, and though the gruesome description of the ogre and the death of someone dear to him lent credibility to his words it hurt to twist his brother's memory this way.

Carver. Always too headstrong, always too desperate to prove his worth, prove that he was just as strong as his older brother. Garrett, on the other hand, had used to mock him for every failure, equally eager to demonstrate he could protect their little family all on his own.

A perfectly normal behavior for two alphas who spent most of their time around an omega they wanted to impress. Sometimes Garrett wondered whether the rivalry between himself and his brother had stemmed from genuine animosity, or whether it had simply been a result of their hormones, forcing them both to act like feral dogs who wanted to become the leader of the pack.

Whatever it was that had made Carver push his brother out of the way and charge at the ogre with his sword raised and his voice catching in his throat – _stupid brother, foolish brother, brave, kind, idiotic brother_ – it had killed him, and losing Carver had destroyed some part of Garrett as well.

And so he would tell them about his brother's death with a detached emotionless voice, all the while dressing Carver up as a young Chantry sister, kind-hearted and forgiving, who had never found fault in Garrett's actions and encouraged him to bring out the best of himself.

Only the Knight-Commander had fixed him with an inquisitive stare and pressed him for details, searching for the hole in his lie, constantly trying to trap him in a contradiction. It was as if she _knew_ , even though Garrett had taken every precaution to ensure no one would suspect him. He and Leandra had changed their names – they were Sinclairs now, not Hawkes – cut all ties to their remaining friends and family members both in Fereldan and the Free Marches, and bribed others to confirm their new identities.

All that just to demonstrate there was no connection between Bethany, the timid young apostate the templars had brought to the Circle, and Garrett, the stoic determined recruit who had come to serve at the Gallows three days later.

It was not unheard of for knights to have relatives among the mages they were tasked to protect – but there would have been restrictions, as well as an unnatural amount of suspicion. Even if they had accepted Garrett as a templar with that background they wouldn't have allowed him to see Bethany on a regular basis. They wouldn't have told him anything about her situation, would have taken every opinion he offered on her skills with a grain of salt.

And then they would have sent him away to serve at another Circle before he had even spent a whole day at the Gallows.

No, this was the safe option, the smart one, the one that ensured he would be able to protect his sister to the best of his abilities, no matter how difficult it was to pretend she meant nothing to him.

At least this way he could watch over her without arousing suspicion, let her know he would always be around to help whenever she was in trouble – and eventually find a way to get her out of the Circle for good.

It had been his fault she had been captured at all. It had been a stupid mistake; he should have never let her out of his sight, never allowed her to take on one of Athenril's jobs without him. This time he wouldn't be this foolish.

Even now, during breakfast, Garrett watched over her: He had found a seat in the Great Hall that granted him a perfect view of the apprentices' table at the other end of the room. He saw nothing but Bethany's black hair amidst dozens of other mages, but it was the best he could hope for. Right now he was unable to get any closer to her.

A few decades ago a Knight-Commander had considered it a good idea to let both mages and templars take all their meals together in the tower's largest room. It had probably been intended as a means to improve relations between the two groups, and perhaps the method had even succeeded at one point in time; nowadays, however, all meals passed mostly in uncomfortable silence, as both mages and templars stayed among themselves and every group regarded the other with growing unease. Conversations were usually short and rarely ventured into the personal; after all no one wanted to divulge private secrets in a place where "the enemy" could easily overhear them.

So Garrett was more than a little surprised when Keran asked him why he had wanted to become a knight. In his opinion that counted as a personal question, even though the others around him obviously did not share that sentiment.

He briefly considered his audience.

Just like him Hugh, Paxley and Keran were mere recruits; yet unlike him they would be able to fully join the Order in a few months from now, whereas Garrett still needed to prove his worth. In the last weeks the four of them had forged a tentative friendship that had been a result of necessity rather than any real affection. During the day they had the same duties, were instructed by the same knights, fought each other in mock battles; during the night they all slept in the same narrow room. There was no simply no escaping the other three.

They had very little in common, apart from the fact that they spent most of their free time gossiping; which might have been due to the fact that there was not much else to do in the Gallows.

Oh well. Garrett would give them something to talk about.

He looked down on his breakfast, pushing the last few bites of his scrambled eggs from one side of his plate to the other, while he pretended to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke his voice was slightly lower than usual.

"My father was an apostate."

Usually that was the only piece of information this particular tale needed. People immediately started imagining a tragic past rife with blood magic and abominations and decided not to press him for details, worried it might cause him to relive painful memories.

"Oh", Keran said. He and the other recruits exchanged a look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Garrett waved his apology aside.

A few months ago Garrett had believed even admitting this much would be dangerous; but that had been before he had learned just how many templars had dead relatives on the other side. Rumor had it the Knight-Commander was one of them as well; apparently she had spent years trying to keep her brother's or sister's nature hidden, before being forced to end their life herself when they turned to blood magic. Usually the knights with such a background tended to be either overzealous or hesitant when it came to punishing mages. The other recruits would probably watch him closely during the next few months, trying to determine which category he belonged to.

Or at least they would, if he actually intended to stay at the Circle that long.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, neither of them able to look Garrett in eye.

Eventually Paxley couldn't take it anymore and clumsily tried to change the topic.

"By the way, where are Wilmod and Ruvena? I haven't seen them this morning."

"Over there, handing out suppressants", Hawke answered and pointed at one of the mages' tables. Indeed, they walked along the rows of benches and handed out small vials filled with what Garrett knew was a transparent, scentless liquid to the assembled mages; their monthly dose of the concoction that would ensure they wouldn't succumb to their natural urges.

It was the true curse of those born with the gift of magic. The ability to consciously travel the Fade and weave miracles in the physical world came with an increased amount of hormones and an altered body chemistry which distinguished them from regular people. After hitting puberty they regularly became sexually submissive creatures. In addition to that all mages would go into heat once a month; a state that rendered them utterly vulnerable to their baser urges. Garrett had never been around an omega in heat himself – not really – but he had been told they emitted powerful pheromones during that time, which would cause alphas such as himself to lose their own inhibitions and fuck them like animals. A mage would form a powerful spiritual connection with the alpha who fucked them first while they were in heat: The bond, a kind of mental link that would forever bind them to each other – or at least until one of them died.

A few years ago he had asked Lothering's Grand Cleric why a supposedly kind and benevolent Maker would come up with this kind of mind-fuckery. The old woman had quoted a passage from the Chant and tried to demonstrate the necessity and beauty of this idea with an example from Andraste's battles. The answer Garrett had taken from her lecture had been remarkably simple.

Because the Maker was kinky like that.

Thankfully a suppressant had been developed centuries ago which would prevent mages from going into heat, thus avoiding unwanted pregnancies and unwanted fraternization between templars and mages. Only the particularly young children who still had a few years until they hit puberty were exempted from drinking the suppressant – as well as the handful of mages who had (mostly accidentally) already gone into heat once and bonded with an alpha in the process. Every other mage received one vial every month. Today Wilmod and Ruvena had started with the apprentices near the entrance of the Great Hall, then worked their way along the tables before finally reaching the enchanters at the very end.

There was nothing unusual about the scene.

"Huh. That's strange", Hugh said all of a sudden.

"What is?"

"Look, they're finished already."

"And what is strange about that?"

"The First Enchanter didn't get one."

Now they all craned their necks to get a better look at the enchanters' table. Garrett hadn't been paying attention, and since Ruvena and Wilmod had already moved on he couldn't confirm Hugh's observation.

But _something_ had happened, alright, something that had agitated the other men and women at Orsino's table. They whispered hurriedly among themselves and cast questioning glances at Ruvena's retreating form. Four or five of them addressed their First Enchanter all at once, bombarding him with questions, which the man in question met with stoic indifference.

"Wait a second", Garrett interjected, confused. "I thought the First Enchanter always bonds with the Knight-Commander before both assume their respective posts?"

It was a common practice in most Circles. Most of the time when a mage ended up being bonded to a templar it was merely the result of an unfortunate accident; yet it could also happen intentionally. The bond was considered the most subtle, humane way of controlling a troublesome mage: It allowed the bonded couple to sense each other's feelings, sometimes even intense thoughts, and act accordingly. If a templar noticed the mage he was bonded to began to feel depressed or angry, he could intervene before the mage turned to blood magic.

Knight-Commanders and First Enchanters, on the other hand, were a different story. Some argued the bond could help them understand each other better, enabling them to respect each other's decisions and allow them to cooperate. Usually they bonded when the future Commander was merely a Captain and the mage in question was only one of many talented enchanters.

It was also the reason all Knight-Commanders had to be alphas, since betas couldn't bond with mages.

"No, they aren't", Paxley answered. "Both of them acquired their posts through unusual circumstances. No one could have predicted the two of them would eventually lead the Circle, so they haven't bonded in their youth, and I'm fairly certain they still haven't. Whenever I had to hand out the suppressants the First Enchanter got one, every single time. So why not today?"

"Perhaps he is too old?", Garrett offered. "I mean, once an omega reaches a certain age they don't go into heat anymore, right?"

"You really think they would take that risk? If they think he is safe and he really isn't..." Paxley trailed off.

"... he'll end up getting raped by at least half a hundred templars", Garrett finished the sentence for him.

It was one of his greatest fears when he had still lived in Lothering: If Bethany had ended up going into heat everyone would have known she was an omega, and consequently her identity as a mage would have been discovered... and every alpha close enough to smell her pheromones would have tried to jump her. She would have ended up bonding with the first one, but even then they wouldn't have stopped; depending on the person the heat could last for _days_...

"Maybe that's what they're trying to do?", Hugh wondered out loud. "Not the raping, but the bonding. I mean, what if the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter intend to bond this month?"

"Why now, if they haven't already? Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure, but I heard the First Enchanter has been acting downright rebellious lately..."

_Rebellious_ was a word with varying definitions, Garrett had found. Personally he considered his plan of deserting and taking his sister with him an act of rebellion; everything Orsino did was relatively tame in comparison. The mage adhered to the Circle's rules – but ever since he had discovered that Meredith would take his opinions much more seriously if he discussed them with the Viscount or the Grand Cleric first, he had started spending more time outside the tower. He was not exactly an example of insubordination – Orsino acted well within his rights – but it had put a strain on the relationship between Knight-Commander and First Enchanter.

Could that be it? Could that be enough of a reason to make him bond with the Knight-Commander? Was there anything else the recruits didn't know about?

"So it's supposed to be a punishment?", Garrett wondered out loud.

"I thought it couldn't be used like that on a First Enchanter. Don't they need his consent?"

"They do, unless the Grand Cleric decides it's absolutely necessary."

Garrett tried to continue following the conversation as Hugh and Paxley turned it into a serious discussion on the finer points of Chantry Law. Apparently there were strict rules on how, why, when and to whom a First Enchanter could be bonded. Mutual affection seemed to be a minor issue – both the First Enchanter's and the Knight-Commander's consent could be substituted by the Grand Cleric's approval. Either way the Knight-Commander would have to make an announcement soon; the other knights needed to be informed that there was a mage about to go into heat inside the tower, so they could keep their distance.

Keran slammed his cup back on the table with much more force than necessary. The other three stared at him in confusion. Suddenly Garrett realized that the blond recruit hadn't contributed anything to their conversation up until this point.

Upon noticing he had the undivided attention of his fellow recruits, Keran looked bashful all of a sudden.

"Could we... could we please _not_ talk about the possibility of Meredith and Orsino having sex with each other? I really don't need those images in my head."

"Why not? They're not _that_ old. Besides, he's an elf. I've heard that – "

"Just... stop it. Please."

Paxley, Hugh and Garrett shared a look. They were all thinking the same thing.

"You don't get it, Keran", Garrett said matter-of-factly. "You're a beta, it's different for you. You don't know what it's like to be around omegas all day, smelling their scent and wondering whether they are really as pliant and submissive as we've been told. You don't know what it's like not to be allowed to touch even though you want to, even though you _need_ to."

"Oh come on, don't act as if you know everything about it", Paxley interjected. "You have been a templar for, like, what? Two months?"

Actually it had been three months; far too long in either case. Three months Bethany had to spent away from her family, from the people who loved her. Instead she was surrounded by a whole tower full of horny knights who wanted nothing more than to find out what it was like to bend her or others of her kind over a table.

He had to protect her, get her out of here, as far away from this place as possible, that much was obvious – but when he thought about other mages who were not related to him his feelings were somewhat more complicated.

Even though they were in the same situation as his sister, even though there was absolutely no difference between Bethany and the others, it was not the same. Some part of him pitied them all, wanted to help them all, and yet...

Bethany was his sister. The others weren't.

Every day Garrett fought hard to suppress his urges, the same ones every alpha had; his father had spent years trying to explain to him and Carver why those urges were wrong, twisted, why they would end up hurting a mage if they weren't careful, and Garrett got it, he really did. So he ignored those feelings as best as he could, pretended he didn't feel that pang of longing whenever he passed a mage, trained every day with the other knights until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion so he wouldn't lie awake in his bed and fantasize about pliant, submissive omegas.

Urges – that was what Garrett called it anyway. His father had a number of choice words for it. He considered it an innate sickness, one that could never truly be cured, only repressed.

Ever since the boys had been old enough to experience sexual desires Malcolm had attempted to teach them that the heat would rob a mage of conscious thought: No matter how they acted, what they said, if Garrett or Carver took advantage of their state that would be rape, and nothing else.

Back then the lessons had been easy to understand; Father and Bethany had been the only mages Garrett had known, the mere thought of hurting one of them had been impossible to bear. That was the only reason Garrett had needed.

Malcolm's interpretation differed from the one the rest of the world believed in, however. Immediately after starting his new life as a templar Garrett had felt as if he had stumbled right into a demonically-twisted corner of the Fade, where every object, every person vaguely resembled their counterpart in reality, but could never hope to compare to the real thing. They told the same stories as his father but changed their meaning, turned them upside-down until Garrett could hardly recognize them anymore.

The Chant didn't make bonding sound like rape.

The relationship between Maferath and Andraste had been tragic and fraught with betrayal, but true: The bond had been the culmination of their love, the beacon of hope to give Andraste strength during dark times.

_And we all know how well that turned out_ , Father had said. According to him, the bond could never lead to a happily-ever-after: It was the chain around a person's neck, inseparably binding them to their mate, no matter what they felt for each other. Perhaps that was why Maferath had betrayed the prophet: To rid himself of a woman he had bonded with because of an unfortunate accident, a woman he simply could not leave by any other means, even knowing what her death would mean for his own sanity.

But that had been hundreds of years ago. There were other, more recent examples.

As the Blight had raged in Fereldan a blood mage had tried to take over the Calenhad Circle by imprisoning the senior enchanters and eroding the First Enchanter's mind. But the First Enchanter had held firm, resisting the mental assault with ease – because his connection to the Knight-Commander's mind had given him support. The knight hadn't abandoned the mage, hadn't even considered it; he had gathered all of his templars as fast as he could and charged to the rescue, just in time to join the Warden's forces along with his partner as he came to the Circle to enlist their help.

_Self-preservation_ , Father had said. If one half of a bonded couple died the other would experience their death as if it was their own. Nearly everyone went mad from the experience, most chose to end their own lives before long. Naturally the Knight-Commander had wanted to avoid such a fate; consequently him charging to the rescue of his First Enchanter hadn't been quite as heroic as the Order's interpretation suggested.

Malcolm Hawke's stance had been clear. His animosity towards the templars had been so intense that he had been unable to keep the venom out of his voice whenever he had spoken about the Rite of Bonding.

_They can call it whatever they want: All they are looking for is an excuse to breed us like animals. That's all it's about. The invisible leash they call the bond is just an added bonus. They don't care how many of us they break with their abuse – the mages are asking for it, aren't they?! No Garrett, it isn't about love or mutual respect. It is about power, about proving one's superiority. It is an atrocity, nothing else._

With growing discomfort Garrett wondered what his father would say if he could see his son right now: Wearing the uniform of the enemy, eating with them, laughing with them, casually discussing the First Enchanter's imminent rape.

He had always felt as if Malcolm had expected him to feel ashamed for the way he had been born. Every day he had seen it, all the little ways his father had betrayed his lack of trust. Once Bethany's magic had manifested, her brothers had been prohibited from spending time alone with her, even though Carver had been far too young to understand why. Malcolm was careful, always kept enough suppressant around for his daughter, and whenever his stock was close to running out he sent his sons away until he had secured more. Garrett felt like he had spent more nights sleeping in the old barn at the edge of the village than in his own bed.

He hadn't seen much of his father those last few years. The man had spent most of his days hidden away with his daughter once her magic manifested, trying to teach her everything she would need to know to protect herself. Bethany and Leandra had been devastated at his death, whereas Garrett and Carver...

Once he had reached Kirkwall and started making his first acquaintances Garrett had been surprised. Athenril hadn't seen the fact that he was an alpha as something to be hidden, something he should have to apologize for. Instead she had recognized and respected the innate abilities which came along with it, his natural aptitude for leadership, his confidence in battle, his willingness to take action when others faltered. Alphas were rare; not as rare as omegas, but highly sought after by the Order, the City Guard, mercenary bands and basically every other group in search of capable leaders and warriors. After joining the Order Garrett's new superiors had reacted very similarly: They had told him in no uncertain terms that – if he conducted himself well and proved his worth – he would be singled out for tasks requiring decisive action before long; tasks that would put him in a position to earn himself a promotion.

The people here looked at him differently once they knew what he was. Not with fear and distrust as Garrett was accustomed to, but with respect and an instinctive fondness that he found somewhat peculiar.

It was a nice feeling, actually, being appreciated. He could get used to this.

But promotions sometimes led to other "benefits", and that was where he was supposed to draw the line.

With a furtive glance he looked at the First Enchanter again.

He had shown a lot of promise so far, all of his instructors said so; for some reason acquiring the holy magic templars were known for came to him as naturally as breathing. In two years from now he would be able to say his vows. If he continued to serve with distinction afterwards he would rise through the ranks and maybe, just maybe, earn the right to officially claim his own mage, perhaps even a future First Enchanter one day.

Being here made some dark, deeply buried part of him want to forget everything his father had ever taught him.

Perhaps that was why couldn't take his eyes off the First Enchanter. Since Garrett was a mere recruit he had never actually spoken to the elf. He had seen enough of Orsino, however, to know that he fought tooth and nail for his people's rights, not afraid of standing up to the Knight-Commander and her subordinates – just like a good First Enchanter was supposed to.

It would be incredible to claim someone like that, _fuck him until he was begging for his cock, use him the way the Maker had intended him to be used. Garrett would teach him that for all his haughty demeanor he was nothing but a bitch to be bred over and over again, make him realize how much better he would feel if he just submitted to someone like Garrett_.

His father would beat him bloody for the very thought, and Bethany would be horrified if she knew, but...

No buts. He was his father's son first before he was an alpha. He felt disgusted with himself for even thinking about the First Enchanter like that.

Father was right. Alphas were animals, every last one of them, vile creatures, slaves to their basest desires. Garrett had to be better than that, or he would never be able to look his sister in the eye again.

Garrett gripped his cup so tightly he thought it would shatter in his hand. He kind of hoped it would; the pain of having its shards digging into his hand would be preferable to the crushing shame he currently felt.

Four tables to the right a woman cleared her throat loudly and rose from her seat. If it had been any other person doing so the action would have gone unnoticed; but as the Knight-Commander started to speak the whole room fell quiet.

"I have an announcement to make." This far away he couldn't see her expression. Her voice sounded as calm and collected as always. "In light of recent... incidents", she began while throwing a pointed glance at the enchanter's table, "the First Enchanter and myself have made an important decision regarding the Circle's future."

_So it's consensual after all?,_ Garrett wondered.

"First Enchanter Orsino will not receive a suppressant this month for the purpose of participating in the Rite of Bonding."

Excited murmurs came from the rows of templars next to Garrett, whereas the mages at the other end of the room gasped in horror. He tried to imagine Bethany's reaction as she heard this announcement. Would she be shocked? Concerned? Afraid? Disgusted?

"All alpha knights without express orders to do otherwise are to keep their distance during the next few days _no matter what_. Recruits may be granted leave to visit their families if they so choose. The First Enchanter will hold no lectures for the foreseeable future. All mages who regularly attend them are to continue their studies on their own. That is all."

With that the Knight-Commander sat back down.

Garrett turned his attention back to the enchanters' table just in time to catch First Enchanter Orsino stand up and move to cross the Great Hall towards the exit. Normally it was a breach of etiquette to leave before the Knight-Commander was finished, but this time she gave no order to stop him.

All around Garrett heads turned along with his own. It seemed like everyone had their eyes glued on the First Enchanter. When he just left without doing anything the whispers around Garrett just increased in volume.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Sinclair!"

Sometimes when he was lost in thought Garrett failed to react to the unfamiliar name, even if the person calling it stood right next to him. But this morning, on the training ground, he was prepared to hear it.

Without hesitation he stepped forward, facing his instructor.

"You're with me. Show me what you can do with real steel."

Garrett raised an eyebrow in surprise. So far Ser Thrask had insisted the fresh recruits used wooden swords instead of real ones, presumably so they didn't permanently maim each other before they had a chance to learn how to do it properly. He grinned eagerly as he reached for the sword his instructor offered him.

While Ser Thrask paired off the other recruits either with each other or full-fledged templars Garrett spent his time getting used to the weight of a real blade in his hand again. Eventually his instructor returned and led him to more secluded part of the training ground. Garrett was vaguely aware of the fact that the old knight walked closer to him than usual, and the reason for that became apparent when the man started talking. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I can get it in four days." Garrett's eyes went wide.

_Bethany's phylactery._

"Make sure the two of you are ready by then."

Garrett nodded, a barely perceptible jerk of his head. Immediately he began planning. He needed to find some way to get a message to Bethany, prepare a boat, familiarize himself with the patrol schedule, talk to Mother... They would have to leave Kirkwall the same night they fled from the tower, put as much distance between themselves and their pursuers as possible.

What else?

He would need to take precautions in case Ser Thrask was planning to betray him to Meredith. Garrett was not so foolish as to trust a man who had offered his help so willingly right at the beginning after noticing how often Garrett and Bethany saw each other, especially if said man didn't ask for anything in return. What else was he missing? Then all of a sudden it hit him.

As he had inspected his face in the mirror this morning he had noticed that his eyes has finally assumed the pale blue color all templars shared; a clear sign the addiction had set in. He would need to procure a stash of lyrium before fleeing to avoid slowing the others down because he suffered from withdrawal symptoms.

Would four days even be enough to get all of this done?

"Sinclair!"

He barely managed to bring his sword up in time to defend himself from the incoming blow.

"Keep daydreaming like that and you'll never become a proper templar!"

Instead of answering Garrett merely grinned. Ser Thrask returned his smile with equal fervor before coming at him again.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_Dear Mother,_ he began, then stared at the paper in frustration.

He didn't know to continue.

Just imagining his mother's face when she read his letter and learned that they would have to run yet again, that she would have to flee from the city her family had always lived in...

He had promised them they would be safe in Kirkwall. No more running, he had promised. Kirkwall would be their home, he had said. They had just lost their old home to the Blight, had lost _Carver_ to the Blight; they had needed the reassurance more than anything.

He would have promised whatever they wanted just to see his mother smile again.

_I'm sorry_ _for not writing to you sooner. I would like to say I was too busy, but that would be a lie. Being a templar seems to be an endless cycle of praying, training, and more praying. I'm pretty sure I've spent more time in the Chantry than inside the tower. And that seems to apply to the real knights as well, not just to us recruits._

Surely his mother would get the implication: 'They are inattentive, easy to avoid. No one suspects anything.'

Garrett didn't dare to write openly about his observations. He knew every letter a mage wrote was being read by the templars to catch the seditious ones; he doubted they would give the recruits the same treatment, but he just couldn't take the risk. One mistake had cost him Carver, another Bethany – this time he vowed not to be this careless.

_It's actually not all that bad as you feared. To be honest I enjoy –_

No.

Not that.

He couldn't tell his mother that he enjoyed life as a templar, not even as part of his deception. It just wasn't right. He crossed the whole line out, and began anew.

_I've been meaning to visit you for some time now. Perhaps I could come by next month? I might be able to get leave for a few days, if that's alright with you? I long to sleep in my own room again – Keran's snoring has been killing me the last five nights._

She would understand; it was the same code Father had used. In five nights she would be waiting to meet him and Bethany at the port, and they would leave Kirkwall for good.

He still needed to figure out where they would go afterwards. As of now his plan basically consisted of taking the first ship that left at dawn, no matter where it took them.

Father would have that figured out already. He had always known what to do.

Then again Father would never have allowed Bethany to get caught in the first place. The mage had managed to keep his daughter's nature hidden from the world for seventeen years, whereas Garrett hadn't even been able to protect his sister for two.

What a fucking failure he was.

_I'm sorry_ , he wrote again, because that was the one thing he needed his mother to know.

_I'm sorry this comes so suddenly. I will make it up to you, I promise._

He sighed.

No, that wouldn't work. She would spent hours trying to decipher that line, searching for a hidden meaning, afraid she had forgotten the code they had come up with beforehand, just because he couldn't keep his guilt down. The last thing he wanted to do was trouble her further. He was already going to take her from her home, probably about to drag her all over Thedas just to get as much distance between Bethany and Kirkwall's templars as possible.

Once again he was forced to sacrifice his mother's happiness for his sister's safety. For some reason the two never did seem to correlate with each other.

And Mother was not getting any younger; he remembered how sickly she had looked during the boat ride to Kirkwall, how fragile she had felt in his arms. How many journeys like that would she be able to endure before she refused to run any further, or before her body simply gave out? How many times would he have to lie to her to get her moving, how many times would he have to promise it would be the last time they were fleeing?

What a fucking failure.


	2. Negative Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not proof-read, and doesn't exactly meet the standards I've set for myself. I will probably end up rewriting some of this soon, especially the last part.
> 
> About consent: I am honestly not sure whether this counts as non-con, dub-con, con, or whatever. I'm just going to say there will be some consent issues in this chapter, so watch out. There is some smut in here, though this is basically just me teasing. 
> 
> At the end of the chapter I'm going to address the comments you left for the first chapter.

Four days later Garrett's preparations were nearly complete.

Bethany and Mother were both ready and would await his signal. He would come for his sister shortly after midnight, and hopefully reach Leandra at the port half an hour later. He had a spare templar uniform for Bethany to disguise herself, had figured out the best route for them to take, and prepared a boat to get them both from the Gallows back to the City tonight. With any luck they could be halfway to Orlais by dawn.

The only thing he was missing was the lyrium he needed for himself.

There was simply no way to get it. Four times a month each templar received the necessary amount of dust to get him through the week, and not a single grain more. Only the Knight-Commander and the Knight-Captain knew when and where the monthly shipments would arrive, and where the stuff was stashed in the meantime. If there actually was some way for him to procure any, Garrett would need more time to find it; time he didn't have.

They would have to attempt their escape tonight. Every hour he waited would increase their chance of getting caught.

It couldn't be helped. He would just have to delay taking his dose for the week as long as possible and hope for the best.

First of all he needed to find out how to meet Ser Thrask and get Bethany's phylactery.

He and Ruvena had been tasked with guard duty for today; a mind-numbingly dull job that required them to stand mostly motionless in front of a deserted hallway for at least six hours, and direct any visitors to the Knight-Commander's or the First Enchanter's office depending on their business. Not that the Circle received many visitors. It had always been one of the duties Garrett despised, but today it aggravated him even more than usual.

He would have to find some excuse to sneak away and meet Ser Thrask sometime soon; he wasn't sure how long the man would be waiting for him. They had arranged their meeting yesterday, when they had both believed they would have another training session in the courtyard together. It would have been the perfect opportunity, if a simple order from the Knight-Captain hadn't ruined Garrett's plans.

For some reason the regular schedule for all alphas had been revised for the next three days. Most established knights had been sent out to patrol the City and the surrounding areas, whereas the few recruits who hadn't taken Meredith's offer of paid leave had been exempted from their regular training regimen in favor of lighter duties. Thus Ser Thrask – a beta himself – was outside in the courtyard overseeing the tranquil, whereas Garrett was stuck guarding the hallway leading to the Knight-Commander's office.

...Which made Garrett one of the few alphas who remained inside the tower today.

There was only one explanation for this.

"So, they're really going to do it today", Ruvena sighed.

"I thought you and Keran didn't like to talk about that topic?"

"I didn't, and I still don't." The other recruit shrugged. "But lately no one's been talking about anything else."

That much was true. Rumors travelled quickly in the Circle.

Garrett still remembered the morning the First Enchanter hadn't received his suppressant – by the time mages and templars had gathered for lunch again even the ones who had been absent during breakfast had eagerly shared their theories as to why the First Enchanter had agreed to this decision, when the bonding would take place, and discussed finer details of the Rite itself that made Garrett cringe.

The First Enchanter himself had been conspicuously absent during every other meal that followed, confining himself to his chambers, as far away from the knights as possible. He still visited his office when he absolutely had to, followed by the desirous stares of the templars he passed on the way.

Apparently a mage's scent was different when he didn't take his suppressant even before he went into heat, Garrett had been told. Its influence was supposed to be subtle, but the effects on the other knights Garrett had noticed were decidedly less so. Most were drawn to the mage like moths to a flame, eagerly trying to come up with ridiculous reasons for loitering in hallways the First Enchanter was bound to use, just to catch a glimpse of him. Surprisingly even templars who despised either mages in general and Orsino in particular, now spoke about him almost benevolently.

It was par for the course, just another part of the mating ritual, but sometimes the knights in question acted so out of character that Garrett couldn't help but wonder how he would react if he got to spend a few minutes in the First Enchanter's presence. He had overheard some of the other templars talking: Ser Alrik, who had always refused to call the First Enchanter by his name or his rank, instead referring to him as _that knife-ear_ , now believed that, "those large, bat-like ears are rather adorable, don't you think?"

As harmless as such talk was, other incidents had proven there was a reason why Chantry Law demanded the Knight-Commander announced whenever there was a mage about to go into heat inside the Circle.

When they were around the First Enchanter, alpha knights were hardly able to tolerate the presence of other alphas. They got into fights even more easily than Garrett and Carver had whenever they had wanted to impress Bethany – with the difference that Malcolm had been prudent enough not to give his sons real swords unless it was absolutely necessary. Thus they had never been able to seriously injure one another, no matter now brutal their scuffles became.

In the Circle such caution was simply not possible: Whereas recruits like Garrett were not allowed to carry weapons anyway, the established knights were reluctant to give up their swords after spending years to earn the right to carry them in the first place. Besides, there was a reason why they had them: Just because one mage was currently the center of attention did not mean that all the others could be ignored. Blood magic was still a very real threat, and the knights needed to be able to put the offending mages down if necessary. Consequently the only feasible way of preventing alphas from attacking each other was to keep them apart to avoid confrontations; that was why right now alphas were required to serve alongside a beta who could be trusted to keep their wits about them and diffuse the situation if necessary – just as Garrett was now serving alongside Ruvena.

Betas like Keran or Ruvena were not affected by omegas going into heat. Some of them never got tired of claiming the heat was not a naturally occurring phenomenon but rather blood magic specifically designed to toy with an alpha's mind, but those voices were the minority. Most betas merely reacted with indifference whenever the topic came up, wondering what all the fuss was about.

"It can't be today", Garrett answered. "The Knight-Commander has an audience with the Viscount this evening, and another appointment tomorrow morning. Surely she would have cleared her schedule if she had thought the First Enchanter would be... accessible today."

During the last few days Garrett had gathered some interesting information about the Rite of Bonding. Supposedly it consisted of locking up a mage and a templar in the Harrowing Chamber with a sufficient amount of food and water, and basically leaving them in there for a few days, trusting they would figure out the rest by themselves. A spell could be used in advance to determine the exact date when a mage would go into heat, though no one had bothered to tell the recruits when that would be in Orsino's case.

Garrett felt the bile rising in his throat just from thinking about it.

The Harrowing Chamber of all places, where countless apprentices had lost their lives, where every full-fledged mage had already made at least one dreadful experience. He struggled to think of any place that would be even more inappropriate.

The dungeons, maybe. The Tranquility Chamber.

"Oh, so you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?", Garrett asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He had heard so many rumors during the last few days, each little detail he discovered about the Rite more atrocious than the last, that he wasn't sure whether he could stomach any more.

Ruvena was just about to answer as a door in front of them opened. They both stood straighter as they watched the First Enchanter leave the Knight-Commander's office he had entered a few minutes ago; but whereas Ruvena merely snapped to attention Garrett tensed. He stared at the mage, for some reason eager to catch his eye. The warnings of his father came back to him, echoed by Knight-Commander Meredith's voice.

_Don't get too close. Just ignore him. Focus on something else. If there is absolutely no other way, abandon your post to avoid him._

A few seconds passed before Orsino disappeared into his own office right across from Meredith's without even bothering to look in their direction. Only when he was gone did Garrett realize that he had been holding his breath in apprehension the entire time.

Next to him Ruvena snickered. Garrett watched her with growing unease.

"You think this is funny, don't you?", he asked warily.

"Pathetic, actually. And kind of insulting. Every morning I spent half an hour on fixing my hair just to ruin it again when I put on my helmet, while nearly all of my friends lust after some old man."

"You don't understa-", he began, just to be interrupted.

"Yes, yes, I know. You're _different_. I get it. What I _don't_ get is why everyone acts as if this is the best thing that could have happened to all of you. It looks as if you have never gotten laid before, and the First Enchanter is your absolute last chance. None of you will get him anyway. Just let it go."

Garrett glanced over at her, somewhat uncomfortably.

He had tried to explain it to other betas when he was younger, but so far he had never found the right words. Ever since he had become a templar it was even more difficult; even though he had always felt guilty whenever he spoke about that particular topic, he _had_ been able to talk about it without his voice catching in his throat or his hands starting to tremble. Now just thinking about putting his feelings into words was enough to cause him to stutter.

Perhaps that was because bonding with a mage had never been an actual possibility until now. It still wasn't, objectively speaking: The First Enchanter was going to bond with the Knight-Commander, and no one else, certainly not a mere recruit like Garrett.

But he had never been _this close_ before. Somewhere inside the tower was a mage who would be claimed in a few days. Right now said mage was just at the other end of the hallway. If Garrett really wanted to he could just go to his office, knock on his door –

And then what? That was the point where his thoughts got jumbled, and where the self-loathing set in.

He knew he could never touch a mage. That lesson had been so deeply ingrained that he instinctively took a step backwards whenever his sister tried to hug him.

He lusted after Bethany's colleagues – but of course he hadn't admitted that to her, nor to Mother, nor to anyone who knew that Malcolm Hawke was his father. He was afraid Bethany would reject him if she knew; and he needed her acceptance the same way he needed air to breathe.

But how could he explain all _that_ to another templar who hadn't been raised the way he had been, who didn't know what it was like to live by a set of rules the rest of society didn't abide by, what it was like to want one thing and to _need_ another?

He desired Orsino.

He desired a _mage_ , period; it didn't have to be this particular mage. Just a mage, any mage, any omega would be fine. Someone whose brain was wired to _enjoy_ the rough sex Garrett craved, unlike the betas he had been with in his youth.

He wanted what the Chant promised: A partner who would accept him, who would care about him not despite, but because of who he was. He wanted the bond, to be connected to another person by an invisible threat that could only be severed by death. He wanted all the happiness and all the despair that entailed, and everything in between.

He wanted someone who would be _his_ , someone he would belong to in turn.

And he knew he would never have that with a beta.

"We would all go against the Knight-Commander's orders and claim the First Enchanter for ourselves if the chance presented itself", he simply said. "I can't explain it. That's just the way it is. We just can't let it go."

Again Ruvena opened her mouth to speak – and again she was interrupted by a door opening. Again they both straightened, and again Garrett held his breath without meaning to. They watched in silence as the First Enchanter left his own office and started down the hallway, right towards them.

This time Garrett tried to stare at anything but the slender elf, which proved to be an impossible task. The pristine white corridor offered no distraction, nothing else to focus on, and his ears had a way of concentrating on each of the mage's soft footsteps as if every step he took was a kick against Garrett's head.

_Remember what Father said_ , he told himself. _It's not right, it is vile and atrocious. You don't want to be like the monsters Father risked everything to get away from._

But the truth was he had considered it.

No, more than that, he had _imagined_ it so many times the scenario was burned into his skull, had even managed to overcome his shame to ask around about the First Enchanter's sexual experience, to enhance his fantasy with little details.

Apparently Orsino hadn't had any serious relationships during all his years inside the Circle, or at least none the templars had ever found out about – for other knights were Garrett's only source of information. There had been two or three women – elven mages, all of them – he had spent a lot of time with when he was younger, which suggested more than just friendship, but no one knew anything concrete; which led Garrett to a rather interesting conclusion.

He had reason to assume the First Enchanter had never been with another man before, least of all a human male.

Last night, after the other three recruits had fallen asleep, he had imagined what it would be like to be Knight-Commander, to lead Orsino into the Harrowing Chamber and lock themselves in there; how the elf would react upon seeing his cock for the first time. In his imagination the elf was blissfully unaware of the size difference. He would be anxious at first, hesitant, yet unwilling to show the real extent of his fear. He would touch it tentatively, unable to look Garrett into eye.

And he would scream until his throat was hoarse once Garrett forced him to his hands and knees and rammed it balls-deep into his tight virgin ass. He would beg and plead for him to stop until the heat eroded his mind; then he would beg and plead for Garrett to fuck him harder, take him deeper, breed him like the bitch he was. Garrett would rut him like an animal, the way he had seen mabaris take their bitches: Fast and rough, uncaring whether the one underneath screamed in pleasure and pain, focused only on his own desires.

He had jerked off to that image, had rutted his flimsy mattress imagining it as the pliant hole of a mage in heat, uncaring whether the sounds he made would wake the others up. He had fantasized about raping a helpless omega and been rewarded with one of the most satisfying orgasms he had ever experienced, before surrendering to a feeling of guilt that was nearly destructive in its intensity.

Malcolm's lessons had ensured that every time Garrett experienced arousal it was accompanied by an intense amount of shame, but never before had the feeling been this crushing.

He was unable to look the First Enchanter in the eye as the mage stopped in front of them and started speaking.

"I require your assistance", Orsino said, mostly undaunted by the fact that Garrett was staring intently at the wall next to him. "If one of you would please follow me."

The request was accompanied by a small, coy smile that was slightly at odds with the stories Garrett had heard of how Orsino usually treated templars. The elf briefly exposed a row of short, white teeth; a small pink tongue darted out for a second to wet his lips, before disappearing into his mouth again.

Templars did not take orders from a mage, even if he was the First Enchanter. Unless he had previously acquired the Knight-Commander's permission in writing (which he didn't seem to be carrying) Orsino had no authority to make them do anything.

Consequently Ruvena shook her head. "The Knight-Captain himself has ordered us to-"

"I assure you it won't take much of your time", the mage interjected before Ruvena had a chance to finish her sentence – and he turned to Garrett as he spoke, probably thinking one recruit might grant his request even if the other had already started to deny him.

Garrett was about to echo her sentiment – before he realized that agreeing with Orsino could have its advantages.

It would be an excuse to leave his post. He might be able to do Orsino's bidding and perhaps seek out Ser Thrask for Bethany's phylactery on the way.

There would still be repercussions, of course; but Garrett would not simply abandon his post of his own accord. While the First Enchanter had no influence over the templars, he was nevertheless the mage with the most authority inside and outside the Circle. Granting one of his requests might not even be seen as insubordination, but rather as a display of respect.

It was too good a chance to let it slip away.

"In that case I will gladly accompany you", Garrett said.

Ruvena gave him a doubtful look, which Garrett answered with a sharp, warning glance. It was one of the perks of being an alpha: Both betas and omegas tended to accept his decisions if he just projected a sufficient amount of confidence when he made them. It was a form of dominance Garrett was mostly comfortable with; following his orders didn't hurt anyone, quite the contrary, in fact: He had gotten his family safely out of Lothering while fighting off darkspawn, and would have managed to get all of them to Kirkwall if his brother hadn't disobeyed him that final, crucial moment.

But apparently the tactic didn't work on Ruvena.

"No, I will go", she insisted all of sudden, eyeing him warily.

Her next words came as a whisper, directed solely at him.

"You should not be around the First Enchanter in his current condition, Sinclair."

That much was true, he supposed. The Knight-Commander had repeatedly ordered all alpha knights to stay clear of Orsino if possible, even though right now Garrett couldn't understand why.

There was nothing, nothing Garrett noticed anyway. He had been prepared to experience the sweet, exotic scent of a mage about to go into heat Father had always warned him about, had half expected his body to lurch forward so he could hump Orsino's leg like a badly-trained dog. Instead he found he was still thinking clearly, and while he felt drawn to the elf he had no desire to take him right here on the floor.

He should probably not try to convince Ruvena of his plan with those exact words, though.

Next to them the First Enchanter chuckled pointedly.

"Don't worry. I think I will be able to defend myself if your friend tries to fondle me. He wouldn't be the first one", he said with another gentle smile.

Garrett just looked at him, uncomprehending.

He was struck by how... agreeable the mage behaved. All the other knights had told him to expect nothing but blunt insults should Orsino ever deign to speak to him. The First Enchanter had never been particularly subtle, and didn't try to hide his contempt for the knights tasked with guarding him and his people.

Garrett couldn't understand how such a person could talk so casually about templars trying to rape him. He still remembered his father, and how Carver and Garrett were the only alphas he allowed in his presence. Malcolm Hawke had avoided all the others for as long as Garrett could remember, while calling them vile brutes, twisted animals, worse than abominations _._

_But I'm not like them. Father recognized that._

"Ruvena", he said with as much force and conviction as he could muster, with the voice even Malcolm had listened to. "I will accompany the First Enchanter. We will be back before you know it."

He could almost see the warring thoughts behind her eyes, the beta's primal desire to subject herself to the decisions of an alpha, and the more rational instinct to trust in the Knight-Commander's orders.

But the Knight-Commander was not here right now.

"Very well", Ruvena said with a strained voice. "Though I must say I'm not comfortable with this. Just come back soon. And... be careful, alright?"

Garrett couldn't tell which one of them that last part was directed at. She had looked at him as she said it, even though Garrett had always been told that whenever an alpha and an omega were alone, the omega was the one in danger. He nodded anyway.

The First Enchanter rewarded Garrett a barely-noticeable tilt of his head. "Follow me, then."

Nobody moved or spoke for a few seconds, until Garrett realized that the mage was waiting for him to unlock and open the door. He did so, and barely had enough time to move out of the way before the elf walked past him, softly brushing against him in the process.

That small contact was all his brain needed to switch gears.

Immediately images started filling Garrett's head: The elf on his back, the elf on his knees, the elf on all fours, struggling beneath him, desperately trying to hold himself upright beneath Garrett's weight. The elf would be unable to resist him, unable to do anything but submit to him.

He remembered his father's stern face and his sister's smile, and felt disgusted with himself.

Orsino had stopped and was now looking back at him, waiting for him to follow. He hesitated, yet saw no other course of action but to go with the mage. The First Enchanter waited until Garrett had nearly caught up to him, then resumed walking.

Ruvena looked after them, clearly unsure how she felt about all this. Garrett wanted to offer some reassuring words, but the mage set a brisk pace, forcing him to jog to catch up to him. Before he had a chance to think of something to say they rounded a corner, and Ruvena was out of sight.

The First Enchanter did not turn to look at him again. Apparently Garrett didn't need to know where they were going.

Garrett didn't mind the silence. He was still lost in thought.

That short moment when Orsino had brushed against him was the first time he had touched a mage in – years? He wasn't entirely sure. Bethany's magic had manifested when she had been seven, which meant Garrett had been eleven at the time. Had he ever touched his sister afterwards? He couldn't tell for sure, it hadn't mattered until now.

He couldn't help but wonder: Was the reaction he had had to the physical contact normal, a result of Orsino's impending heat? Or was Garrett himself simply so touch-starved that he would experience arousal no matter whose body he felt against his own?

That thought led him to another, even darker path of reasoning.

Was this what it was like in the Circle? Were people thinking about his sister, and his father before her, the way he was thinking about Orsino? Was it such a regular occurrence for mages to be propositioned that even the First Enchanter was no longer fazed by it?

Orsino was old enough to be Garrett's father, but unlike Malcolm the elf hadn't spent the last twenty-five years in freedom. Was this what became of mages when they lived in the Circle their entire lives, when they never learned they could be more than an alpha's toy?

As First Enchanter, Orsino had probably known that he would be claimed one day; it was the usual procedure. And still the position of First Enchanter was highly sought after, despite everyone knowing what it entailed. He couldn't understand why anyone would choose such a fate for themselves.

While he was staring at the mage's back, Garrett noticed for the first time just how form-fitting his robes were. A mage's robes generally left comparatively little to the imagination: While they did cover as much skin as possible so as not to be indecent, they were needlessly tight, the outline of the body beneath clearly visible through the fabric. They showed everything an alpha might consider desirable, and concealed anything that wasn't. Depending on whether the wearer was male or female some little details were altered; women's robes usually had some fancy pattern on the front, drawing attention to their breasts. Men's robes were just as tight as women's around the chest, but also around the wearer's arms, outlining the muscles underneath.

Orsino's robes were no exception. They were just as tight as usual, tempting Garrett to continue fantasizing about him, and the red and golden patterns served to accentuate the elf's slender build.

Whoever had tailored the garment had probably known its wearer would end up being claimed by an alpha; Garrett could tell because the outfit included an elaborate, utterly impractical belt. It actually looked more like a golden chain, riding up his hips and jingling softly with every step he took, which caused Garrett's gaze to slip lower, to where it rested on the elf's backside.

A chain to remind anyone who looked at him that someone would eventually put a similar gilded collar around his neck, the official symbol of a bonded mage.

He would have liked to ask the First Enchanter how he felt about the prospect of bonding with an alpha, but couldn't find the words. The elf showed no sign of being afraid, or wary, or uncomfortable, but that could be a front. He certainly didn't look enthusiastic about it, either.

But how was he supposed to phrase the question? He hardly knew the mage, hadn't even spoken to him before today.

So he said nothing, and they continued to walk in silence.

They took an unnecessary complex route to climb the tower, he noticed after some time. Orsino avoided the hallways most people would frequent at this time, intentionally leading him down deserted corridors.

Every once in a while they passed other templars on guard duty. The mage would study them for a few seconds and usually walk on, but once he stopped to get another knight to follow them, one who needed nothing more than a few gentle words as an incentive to follow them: An older knight Garrett had seen before in passing but whose name escaped him, with an impressively styled beard that already contained a few grey hairs. He was surprised there were others who would so willingly abandon their posts despite the fact that Orsino never once revealed why he needed their assistance in the first place.

_Another alpha_ , Garrett realized with confusion. He noticed because of the unexplainable rage he felt whenever the First Enchanter so much as looked at him, and Orsino did more than just look; just as he had done with Garrett the elf rewarded the knight's cooperation with little smiles and suggestive touches; he brushed the knight's cheek gently, and even went as far as to allow him to wrap an arm around his waist for a brief second.

Needless to say, that was not how a mage normally greeted a templar.

If he hadn't realized it earlier, Garrett was now wholly convinced that the Knight-Commander had not sanctioned the First Enchanter's little excursion. Something weird was going on here.

"Where are we going?", he asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

The mage didn't answer, merely increased his pace. Soon they would reach the upper levels, where entry was strictly prohibited to most. Above here were only a few storage rooms, the Knight-Commander's as well as the First Enchanter's quarters, and the Harrowing Chamber.

"Hey", the older knight said after a few seconds, when Orsino didn't answer. "The rookie asked you a question, bitch."

Garrett's eyes widened.

_Bitch_ was by far the most common insult for Circle mages – and also one that was not to be spoken in their presence. Harsh punishments were meted out if anyone said it to a mage's face; the First Enchanter had always made sure the Knight-Commander took this particular rule very seriously.

Orsino had been ascending the stairs as the older knight said the word, and promptly missed a step. If Garrett hadn't been paying such close attention to him he probably wouldn't have noticed – the elf caught himself instantly, didn't even stumble; but there was a new tension to his narrow shoulders now.

And yet he said nothing, didn't reprimand the templar in the slightest.

Garrett turned his head just in time to spot a playful smile forming on the older knight's face.

"What's the matter, _bitch_? Don't tell me you've gotten all shy."

The First Enchanter had just reached the top of the staircase and turned around sharply, looking down on the knight with as much contempt as he could muster.

... which wasn't much, Garrett noticed with a start.

Out of nowhere the words of his father came back to him, spoken to him as a warning so many years ago. Today, in front of a mage about to go into heat, they sounded more like an instruction.

_We crave the humiliation, the pain. The worse you treat us, the more we will be drawn to you. There are many ways to break a mage, but the surest way is to remind him how powerless he is against dominance._

"You're forgetting yourself, _Ser_ Karras", Orsino snarled, or tried to, anyway. His words lacked the edge that usually accompanied a threat or rebuke. "I will make sure the Knight-Commander hears of this."

The old knight, Ser Karras, laughed. He moved forward, closing the distance between himself and the mage. Garrett had expected the mage to stand his ground, challenging the knight to show proper deference, as a First Enchanter should. Instead he had to watch silently as Karras backed the mage up against a wall, wondering why Orsino didn't resist.

_Maybe he can't,_ Hawke realized. _He must be close to going into heat. He is vulnerable right now._

With visible reluctance the First Enchanter finally settled on answering the question that had sparked their exchange in the first place. "We're going to the storage rooms just above this floor. I need you to move a few supplies to the Harrowing Chamber."

Both Karras and Garrett instantly realized what that meant.

"So you'll finally get fucked tonight. "

Garrett swallowed hard. For some reason that little piece of information was frightening rather than arousing. His throat was dry, his armor too tight, his lungs too small. He couldn't breathe. His hands turned to fists, the metallic crunch of his gauntlets rubbing together the only sound to break the silence as Karras reached out to pat Orsino's cheek patronizingly, just like one patted an obedient pet.

"Bet you're looking forward to it...", Karras growled. He stepped forward so his body was pressed flush against the mage's, while Garrett fought to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Garrett could hear his own blood pulsing in his ears, but even that incessant pounding was not loud enough to drown out the sound of his father's screams. He couldn't understand.

"...though I guess what you really want is a nice, hard dick to breed you. Why don't you just spread your legs for me now, like the good little slut you are?"

He forced Orsino to open his legs by pressing his knee between them. The First Enchanter hissed, hatred and surprise warring in his voice, but did nothing to stop him. He even allowed Karras to reach around with his free hand and grip his ass, pulling him even closer.

Garrett couldn't move, couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. The mage was gorgeous like this, even better than in Garrett's imagination, a perfect blend of desperation and eagerness.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't _right._

Panic rose in Garrett's chest, a blind terror that threatened to consume him. All of a sudden he felt like he was fourteen again. The look on his father's face when Malcolm had caught him in his room with his hand down his pants was forever burned into his skull, and the memory came back to haunt him now: The disappointment, the sadness.

The fear.

Without thinking Garrett stopped forward. He had to do something.

"Hey", he said loudly, but no one reacted to his voice.

He approached the two men slowly, his cock stiffening inside his armor, his brain completely empty as Karras forced a moan out of the unwilling elf. It was an addictive noise, despair and arousal in equal measure; he sounded as if he was in _pain,_ as if Karras had already started fucking him, instead of merely rubbing one of his nipples through his robes.

It didn't look like rape. Not with the elf arching his back and leaning into Karras' touch, not with those infuriatingly high-pitched moans that threatened to erode Garrett's sanity.

_It is rape,_ the memory of his father insisted firmly, even as Karras pushed his thumb into Orsino's mouth and the mage started licking it with abandon, eyes closing in bliss. _He can't think straight. He will want you to be rough, beg you to be degrading, submit to your every whim – "_

"Hey", he said, nearly shouted, just to silence the voice in his head. Again everyone ignored him; Karras simply kept talking to Orsino as if Garrett didn't even exist.

"Are you ashamed you don't have a real cunt for me? Of course I would have preferred a woman, but who knows? If you beg real nice, I might just give you what you need."

The First Enchanter's eyes opened. He blinked rapidly, gaze firmly fixed on the ceiling above them while Karras pushed his finger deeper into his mouth. Orsino's own hands trembled as they reached upwards to grasp the knight's shoulders, light and hesitant. Karras reacted by pushing his knee up further, until the elf was forced to stand on tiptoes just to keep his balance, while the other man's leg rubbed insistently against his crotch. The mage wriggled uncomfortably, pushing back against the knight's leg while closing his eyes again.

Orsino did not speak.

No sound left his mouth, but his lips moved, forming unspoken words, always the same ones, over and over again. Garrett could read them, even though the elf refused to voice them.

_Do it_ , he mouthed again and again.

_Do it. Do it. Just do it already. Fuck me. Just fuck me. Just fuck me already._

Garrett kept walking until he stood he stood right next to them; until he was close enough to see how Orsino's chest heaved with each labored breath he took, until he could hear the soft sound of a velvety robe rubbing against cold armor, until he could count every line on the elf's face.

Until he was close enough to hit Ser Karras in the face.

There was a sick _crunch_ as his heavy, spiked gauntlet embedded itself in the other man's face; the sound of skin tearing open, of flesh being rent. Karras had been so utterly focused on Orsino, he didn't even try to dodge or evade the attack, probably hadn't seen it coming at all.

The blow left him reeling. Stumbling he tried to put some distance between himself and Garrett, reached for the blade on his back, but Hawke would have none of it. He pursued him immediately, slammed into him as hard as he managed and successfully brought the knight to the ground. The sword went flying. Instantly Garrett was on him, straddling Karras' chest while he continued to beat the man's face bloody. He didn't think about the disciplinary punishment he would receive for assaulting a knight; couldn't.

It was strangely liberating. With every strike to Karras' head he could breathe easier again, regained his calm. This was how it should be.

He was still alright. He was still his father's son.

That was what Malcolm Hawke would have done if he had seen an alpha touch a mage the way Karras had touched Orsino.

Some part of him was confused at how easy it all was – that it took only four or five strikes to disfigure another person.

_And this man thought he could claim an omega?_

Laughable.

_It was more difficult than that. It was a right one had to earn. Garrett hadn't touched his sister in years, always kept himself in check, never allowed himself to show any weakness. And he he hadn't earned the right yet, how could this man hope to be any better?_

Eight strikes were all he got in before a spell hit him in the back.

Garrett looked around wildly – or tried to, rather.

He couldn't move. His fist had come to a stop just above Karras' face, and refused to obey his command to continue striking him. The other man's face was frozen in a mask of disbelief and anger – just like Garrett he appeared to be unable to move a muscle. His hand had reached the hilt of a dagger he carried on his belt, but was unable to draw it.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – Garrett had been in enough similar situations to recognize their current predicament quickly enough.

_A paralysis glyph._

"I suppose hoping we would reach our destination without incidents was rather foolish."

The First Enchanter sounded far too amused for someone who had nearly been raped just moments ago.

His voice seemed to be coming from somewhere right behind Garrett, but the mage's spell had rendered him unable to turn around and check.

"I better leave you two like this till your wits have returned."

Garrett heard the mage approach. It was weirdly exciting to listen for the sound of his footsteps. Eventually Orsino entered Garrett's line of sight as he knelt on the floor next to Karras' head. The elf smiled gently at him.

"I have never believed the tale that alphas would actually start fighting over an omega in heat. Thank you for the demonstration."

Garrett wanted to protest, explain that it wasn't like that, not at all, that it couldn't be like that – but even if he hadn't been paralyzed he doubted he could have found the words.

He felt strangely light-headed, almost like he was drowning.

Was that what he had done? Get Karras away from the mage, so Garrett could claim him for himself? Wasn't he supposed to be better than this?

Orsino gently pushed his hand away and proceeded to assess the damage he had done to the old knight's face. As he looked down on Ser Karras he looked neither enraged nor afraid; his expression was completely neutral.

"As you probably know, healing spells don't come naturally to me. There will be pain", he announced.

While the elf set to work on Ser Karras, Garrett was left with no choice but to stare at the slender mage.

Whereas Garrett's erection was painfully yet conveniently hidden underneath his unyielding armor, a mage's robes had no such advantages. The thin cloth revealed the shape of his hard member, straining proudly against the fabric. It was neither particularly big nor small considering his race, and served to once again remind Garrett of the obvious size difference between humans and elves. The mage himself pointedly ignored it, utterly focused on the task of restoring his would-be rapist's face.

Watching Orsino roughly grip Ser Karras' broken nose and experimentally pull it this way and that with violent twists of his hand, filled Garrett with the weirdest kind of jealousy.

It didn't seem right that the mage was touching Karras instead of him.

Garrett couldn't have said exactly how long he sat there staring at the mage – not that long, he knew, since a paralysis spell could only last a minute at most. Still, by the time Orsino fully turned to him he had memorized every line on the elf's face, the pattern of his breathing, every little detail of his robes.

Karras had gotten to touch, had felt that slender body _writhing_ against his own, had nearly managed to make the mage _beg_ for it, whereas Hawke was unable to do anything but _look_ at him. It was not right.

"I'm going to release the recruit first", Orsino announced. "Get away from Ser Karras and his blade, so I don't have to explain to Meredith why one of her knights slit the throat of another in my presence."

Next to him the elf shifted slightly. A flick of his wrist was all it took for the invisible ropes holding Garrett in place to disappear.

He fell forward awkwardly, feeling as if his body had somehow forgotten how to support his own weight. Unable to properly control his heavy limbs he stumbled away from the other knight in an attempt to get back to his feet.

The First Enchanter reached out to steady him.

The touch was both unexpected and frightening to Garrett's frazzled mind. He pushed Orsino away with much more force than necessary. Unable to keep his balance, the mage tripped over the hem of his robes and fell, just barely managing to catch himself on his hands and knees.

Garrett's cock twitched at the sight.

Orsino was kneeling with his legs slightly parted. His robes had ridden up somewhat, revealing black boots that covered his feet up to his knees, and a small patch of impossibly pale skin above them. Garrett was confused for a second, before he remembered that this was another peculiarity of the dress code for mages: They were prohibited from wearing pants underneath their robes.

He didn't know whether they were allowed smallclothes, and regretted not asking his instructors.

The First Enchanter shifted and tried to rise, but was stopped by Garrett's hand on the back of his neck. It was similar to the gesture a mabari would use to prove his superiority, and Orsino reacted just as he was supposed to. He froze in place.

Garrett's head was blissfully empty.

He didn't think about what he was doing.

Couldn't.

He kept his grip light and gentle, applied just enough pressure for the elf to realize that he was trapped. Karras' blood on his gauntlet was still wet, and he rubbed some of it into the elf's ashen hair. For a second he hesitated, contemplating whether he should change their position; the thought of forcing the mage onto his back while pressing his hand to his exposed throat held a primal certain appeal, but that wasn't what he wanted right now.

Slowly, softly he pushed the mage's head down.

Orsino watched him silently as he followed his lead, large green eyes focused on Garrett's face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to understand what Garrett wanted, and didn't try to resist at all. Before long his cheek touched the floor, his hands splayed out to either side of his face while he remained kneeling, raising his backside for anyone who would like to claim it.

This was the position he would naturally assume if he went into heat around a male alpha. With a female like the Knight-Commander he would roll onto his back, spread his legs and expose his throat, but this, _this_ was what he would do for _Garrett_.

The elf parted his legs a little further to get more comfortable, while Garrett stroked his shoulder blades gently to encourage him to hold the position a little longer. Orsino arched his back without being prompted, and one of his hands came up to rest on Garrett's hand, not to push him away, but rather to stroke his arm.

It was too much.

All of a sudden his father's words came back, and Garrett remembered himself.

Every fiber of his being, every safety mechanism his father's training had instilled into him flared to life and urged him to stop, howling at him not to spend a minute longer in the First Enchanter's presence, to just stand up and walk away while he still could.

Garrett pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. He rose to his feet and turned his back on the elf, opting to stare at the wall instead, which offered far less temptation.

"Maker, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

_Liar_. Malcolm was disappointed. _You can't be trusted around a mage, after all._

"It wasn't like that, I didn't mean anything by it."

_Liar._ Carver was indignant. _Don't pretend you're better than me._

"I was just trying to protect you."

_Liar._ Garrett was ashamed, aroused, nervous, sorry, angry, sad, lonely. Never just one emotion.

_I was just trying to fuck you._

The mage stood up silently. Garrett noticed even though he didn't hear anything, didn't see anything out of the corner of his eye, and turned around sharply.

He could smell the mage now: Sweat and the musk of arousal, strangely sweet. There was something else there, something exotic, something decidedly elven, different and exciting.

Orsino looked at him briefly. Instantly Garrett averted his eyes, afraid of what he would see in the mage's eyes.

Fear, perhaps. Anger, most definitely. Maybe that expression his father had worn sometimes, the one that still haunted Garrett's dreams to this day, the one he had never truly learned to read.

He had nothing else to say, no more lies to offer.

For a second the First Enchanter hesitated. Garrett could feel it, was unnaturally sensitive to his presence; he could tell how close they stood to each other even without actually _seeing_ the mage. The knowledge was not unlike a headache, an itch on the inside of his skull, but annoying rather than painful. He could tell the mage was trembling; whether in fear or indignation, Garrett wasn't sure.

Then Orsino started running.

The mage dashed down the corridor, towards another staircase, towards the top of the tower. His chain jingled even louder than earlier as he took the stairs two steps at a time, never looking back.

Garrett just stood there, next to the still-paralyzed alpha he had beaten up, staring after the omega he had almost raped.

He had learned nearly everything he knew about the First Enchanter from Bethany. His little sister had told him how kind the old omega had been to her, how he had offered his support at a time when she had no one else to rely on. He had taught her which templars were trustworthy and which she should avoid, which enchanters would aid her should she ever have trouble with her fellow mages. He had arranged extra lessons for her to prepare her for her Harrowing, convinced her life as an apostate had not been sufficient preparation for the complex ritual.

And she had explained that this did not make her special in any way – all apprentices received the same treatment from the First Enchanter. He was attentive, benevolent, and prepared to actively challenge the Knight-Commander for the sake of his people. But he was not without his flaws, either: He seemed to be incapable of diplomacy and subtlety, a trait that didn't exactly predestine him for the job of First Enchanter. He was prideful, easy to anger, and according to the other templars not above relying on deceit to get what he wanted.

Bethany said he reminded her of Father.

It was all wrong, twisted, too many impressions that negated each other, too many problems that should have stayed buried along with Malcolm's corpse. He didn't know how to deal with this.

They should never have come to the Gallows.

Garrett would never be able to tell what it was that compelled him to do it. It was more than mere instinct, more than an alpha's desire. More than the morals his father had instilled into him, more than his helpless urge to protect, to comfort, to beg forgiveness for what he was.

Whatever it was, it made him run after Orsino.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He had no idea what he was doing, what he should do or say once he caught up with the mage. He found it was easier not to think about anything as he ran while keeping his eyes on the omega in front of him.

It was strangely exciting, chasing a mage like this. Despite not being particularly exhausted he was breathing heavily, _panting_ , unable to look at anything but the mage. He recognized the feeling as a primal instinct, the thrill of the hunt, anticipation for the reward it promised. Garrett swallowed that emotion, beat it down with the memory of his father's lifeless corpse, and kept going.

Despite his heavy armor he quickly gained ground on Orsino. Garrett called out to him, telling him to stop running, but the mage didn't seem to listen. So he kept chasing the elf, until the endless pristine white corridors started blending into each other.

A staircase, an empty corridor, another staircase, and finally a heavy iron door.

Orsino reached it first, opened it and entered before Garrett caught up with him.

The lyrium in his veins flared up painfully as it reacted to a spell being cast, an enchantment coming to life, complex runes lighting up in front of him. The door started closing itself, and Garrett picked up the pace. He barely managed to slip inside before the door slammed shut behind him.

The room he had entered was almost entirely dark, save for its center, which was illuminated by a pale blue mage light.

At first Garrett didn't know where he was. Then he recognized the Harrowing Chamber from the tales of his father.

Apparently it hadn't changed at all in thirty-five years. The mostly empty, windowless room was a former Tevinter ritual chamber, and in its center stood a small pedestal where the lyrium goblet would be placed during a harrowing. Garrett could smell the old blood that still stuck to the floor, that had seeped into every crack in the stone.

Enormous headless statues lined the high walls, famous magisters of Tevinter, and even though their names had been forgotten in this part of the world their statues remained, the stone magically protected against destruction.

There was something else, as well.

He could tell that couples of alphas and omegas had bonded here, mated here, repeatedly; of course he had also known that beforehand, but standing here he simply _knew_ it to be true. He could _smell_ it, feel it in his bones, a knowledge that was almost instinctual, primal.

There was something about the room as a whole, a certain oppressive atmosphere, or maybe the lingering spirits of all the slaves, apprentices and knights who had lost their lives here.

Whatever it was, it caused Garrett's cock to grow soft again.

He had a bad feeling about this.

First Enchanter Orsino stood in the middle of the room. He had been pacing nervously as Garrett entered, but had stopped dead in his tracks as he had seen the recruit enter.

The mage stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Get out."

"First Enchanter Orsino?"

"I said, GET OUT!"

Instinctively Garrett took a step backwards as the elf began to shout. The mage looked distressed rather than angry; his finger trembled as he pointed at the door, his breathing was erratic.

When Garrett didn't react, the omega took matters into his own hands. He brushed past the recruit without even looking at him, and tried to push the handle.

The door didn't budge. Not even when Orsino pulled the key out of his robes and attempted to unlock it. Not even when he drew his staff and tried to counter the door's magic with his own. Not even when he started to hit it while screaming obscenities.

"First Enchanter?"

The mage stared at the door, as if he was unable to comprehend its existence. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"Well, I guess that's it then", he said and turned towards Garrett. "Congratulations. You won. You can claim your prize in approximately five hours."

The elf laughed. Not a chuckle, not one of those small, shy smiles Garrett had seen earlier, but a real laugh: Entirely mirthless, utterly inappropriate, the kind of laugh that was reserved for situations in which one wanted to scream rather than laugh.

"You should probably use that time to come up with a good excuse. Meredith will be furious when she finds out."

"First Enchanter, I don't understand. What is going on here?", Garrett asked.

Orsino merely laughed that disturbing laugh again.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It took some time for the First Enchanter to calm down, and for Garrett to get the full story out of the mage. He told in mostly in offhanded comments, regardless of chronological order, always interrupted by long-suffering sighs, and Garrett was forced to fit the pieces together.

Last week, the Grand Cleric had suggested for the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander to be bonded, and Orsino had agreed, convinced it would be the best decision for the Circle as a whole. After they had secured his consent, Meredith had explained to him that performing the Rite would be _slightly more difficult_ in their situation.

"Apparently there has been an accident in her youth. She has already bonded with another mage."

Since an alpha could not bond with more than one omega, a replacement needed to be found. The Knight-Captain had been the obvious alternative, and he and Orsino had more than one conversation about the topic, conversations that had made Cullen thoroughly uncomfortable. Eventually though the idea had been discarded; it was decided that Cullen should continue to save himself for a designated future First Enchanter, whereas Orsino should bond with one of the senior knights.

"Actually Meredith wanted to tell me who she had decided on _before_ they stopped giving me the heat suppressant, but she never did. So I came up with a plan."

In Garrett's opinion it wasn't much of a plan, but rather a daring piece of improvisation: The act of an irresponsible child that wanted to prove a point rather than the idea of a grown man who should really know better.

To him it sounded like Orsino had simply intended to prove that he did not appreciate being misled; it was a matter of principle, something between himself and Meredith, to prove that she couldn't control everything that happened in the tower; a warning to remind her to respect his position and treat him with courtesy.

The First Enchanter had wanted to lock himself up in the Harrowing Chamber all alone to wait out his heat, so he wouldn't bond with anyone. He hadn't lied earlier: Garrett and Karras were supposed to help him carry supplies up here, then he would have sent them away and locked himself in. He had chosen alphas for the task because they were sure to jump at the chance to do his bidding right now, and wouldn't ask any questions.

"But I panicked."

Since both Karras and Garrett had tried to take him right there in the corridor, Orsino feared he would push his luck too far if he stayed with them any longer. So he had run to the Harrowing Chamber, and activated the enchantments in the doorframe to ensure it wouldn't open in the next two days – the approximate time it would take for the heat to pass. Then Garrett had managed to slip inside.

And they had completely forgotten about the supplies.

"So now we're both trapped here, without any food or water. I repeat: Congratulations. You're going to be one of the few alphas who find out what it's like to bond with an omega. The lack of supplies is worrisome, but I assume we will probably not die of thirst before we get out again."

Garrett turned pale.

"Wait. Surely it won't come to that. Karras saw where we were going, he'll alert the other knights, the Knight-Commander. They will find some way to get us out."

Orsino shook his head.

"I wouldn't count on that, if I were you. That steel has been reinforced to withstand attacks from demons and abominations. I doubt mere humans will get through."

"But-"

Garrett felt as if his head was about to burst. He tried to think, to come up with some way to get out of this predicament. There had to be something he could do.

Orsino had to be exaggerating. The Knight-Commander would think of something. They wouldn't leave them in here. Somewhere, someone would have a way, a spare key or something, or a secret skill Garrett hadn't learned yet, something to counter the door's complex enchantment.

For just an instant a part of his brain attempted to convince him that perhaps this turn of events wasn't so bad. He would be able to _feel_ the omega, to take him, to _claim_ him in just a few hours, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Then he remembered Bethany and Mother.

"No. I can't do this."

He threw himself against the door with a vengeance, trying to break it down. It didn't open, didn't even budge, didn't react in the slightest to his efforts. He kept trying anyway, using his whole weight to break through, looking for any sign that he had some effect on the door.

Then he switched tactics, examining the lock in detail, searching for any weakness in its design.

"I thought you would be more enthusiastic about this. There are alphas who would _kill_ for this sort of privilege, you know." Orsino kept his voice carefully neutral.

Garrett shook his head.

He didn't have _time._

He banged with his hands against the door, the sound of metal against metal louder than anything else he had ever heard in his life. The steel was thick, he had seen it as he entered, and he doubted anyone could hear him on the other side. Still he called out to anyone who might be wandering the hallways, anyone that might help them.

"You are wasting your time."

Garrett turned to face the elf. He couldn't understand how Orsino could be so calm.

"You're a mage. There must be something you can do about that enchantment. Dispel it. There must be something..."

He kept repeating it like a mantra, trying to convince himself that it was true.

_Surely there had to be a way._

"I already tried that earlier. I can't do it on my own, not without a sufficient supply of lyrium. We're stuck here."

Garrett shook his head, desperately trying to deny this reality.

Bethany would be waiting for him tonight. If he didn't come, if they found her outside of her dormitory after curfew, what would they do to her? What would happen to Mother when she walked through Lowtown at night, without protection?

No, he couldn't let that happen, never. He wouldn't sacrifice what remained of his family for the chance to rape a mage. Too many things were wrong about the very idea. He would never be able to forgive himself.

"Tell me your name", Orsino said all of a sudden.

"What?"

"Your name. I would like to know how to address the alpha I'm going to bond with."

"I won't bond with you."

Under any other circumstances it might be harder to force those words out. Under any other circumstances he might be torn between his urges and the morals his father had instilled into him. He would struggle to compromise between his wants and his needs, and probably experience the same physical manifestations of his fear he had gone through when he had seen Karras and Orsino together.

But with Bethany's life on the line, there was no room for doubt.

"I'm not going to bond with you", he said again with conviction, and turned to face the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I'd like to thank anyone who left comments and/or kudos. I'm really insecure about this fic, because it brushes some topics some people might not be comfortable with. It makes me happy that so many of you enjoyed it regardless. I hope you'll tell me what you think about this chapter as well.
> 
> EchoEvader : Thank you for your kind words! I'm definitely going to finish this, though I should probably warn you that I'm a slow writer, and I'm actually supposed to focus on my thesis right now...
> 
> xxMad_Donaxx : Wow, I must say, I didn't really expect to receive a comment from you. This really means a lot to me, since your story has inspired me to write this in the first place. I hope you'll continue to enjoy my take on this idea.
> 
> rabbitdisposal : Unfortunately you'll have to wait for the next chapter if you're looking for "real" smut. I promise I'll make it worth your while. ^^
> 
> Lalo: You're exactly right: Garrett is never going to have a healthy relationship with his own sexuality (which will end up putting a strain on his relationship with Orsino if I ever end up writing the sequel I have planned). I tried to convey that in this second chapter, but it will also play a huge role in the final one.  
> The complex father-son-relationship was actually something I ended up writing in almost as an afterthought - my original plan for the story didn't include that at all. This was supposed to be purely PWP, but I seem to be incapable of writing a fic without including some measure of angst.  
> On another note, I'm still interested in finishing "A Brighter Darkness", but after re-reading that one I realized that I would have to rewrite the existing chapters before I can continue it. I'm just not happy with it the way it is now. It might take some time until I get around to do that.
> 
> extra kanin (gracon_bacon) : Thank you for your patience! Unfortunately I can't promise I will release the final chapter any sooner...
> 
> missingnolovefic : Thank you! "Different" was exactly what I was aiming for! I'm glad the pairing didn't scare you off, especially since the two of them are my OTP.


	3. Conditioned response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the long delay - and for the fact that this chapter will NOT BE THE FINAL ONE. The fourth one will definitely be the last, and I assure you it will be worth the wait. But hey, this one finally has smut! And the most awkward conversation I have ever written! I hope it's what you wanted... 
> 
> Like last time, I'll address your comments at the end of the chapter.

Garrett's mental breakdown came in four different stages.

At first he kept banging on the door with both hands, until his ears were ringing from the noise and his arms hurt so much he could hardly lift them anymore. Neither that nor calling for help had any effect; if anyone heard him no one answered. His Cleanses and Smites continued to be useless, merely caused the enchantments on the door to flare up in a colorful pattern, as if mocking him for his failure.

Before long Garrett was forced to acknowledge the futility of his efforts and focused his attention on the First Enchanter instead, letting out his frustration on him. He shouted at Orsino, called him a scheming bastard, a knife-ear, a bitch, used every insult that came to mind. The mage braved the torrent of name-calling and spittle stoically, never once spoke up to defend himself or his actions. Again this course of action failed to improve their situation in any way – but Garrett felt slightly better afterwards, even though his throat started to hurt from all the screaming.

Nervous pacing followed, which was actually one of Orsino's habits if rumors were to be believed. He kept walking circles around the lyrium pedestal, convinced the motion would help him think, even though it only served to agitate him further. Lost in thought, he barely noticed how the horrible scenarios he imagined grew ever more grotesque and terrifying in his mind.

Eventually he fell to his knees in the middle of the Harrowing Chamber, uncertain whether he was going to retch or cry. His dry heaving sounded suspiciously like sobbing as he thought about his sister and mother he had endangered, about the father he was about to lose all over again. At Malcolm's funeral he had vowed he would never claim a mage, never succumb to his desires. He could still see it when he closed his eyes, the shallow grave in the shadow of the Chantry where they had buried his father, in the village that was no more.

He wondered what that man that had stayed behind in Fereldan would say if he could see him now, that man that had devoted his life to ensuring none of his children would ever end up inside a Circle. His father's opinion had meant the world to him, and Garrett had failed him so utterly, so completely that he could no longer call himself his son.

Without thinking he reached for his belt and traced the outline of the pouch he kept there, strangely comforted by its presence.

He might not be able to help his mother or sister, but he could still save Orsino.

He could still save himself.

He turned his back on the First Enchanter, so the mage wouldn't see what he was doing. With practiced ease he retrieved his tools and laid them out in front of him: Bandages, pliers, herbs, and for some reason his lyrium. It might serve him here. He didn't have disinfectant, hadn't really expected to be needing it today; he would just have to hope for the best. The herbs might be too old, too dry; he hadn't replaced them in weeks. He examined them one by one, sniffed them, turned them around in his hands, suddenly uncertain whether this would go as smoothly as he had imagined. The right dosage was important, could mean the difference between success and failure, but for some reason it was hard to remember the procedure.

It felt as if he was slowly losing his mind. Every minute he spent in the First Enchanter's presence altered his way of thinking ever so slightly, twisted every thought he had. He kept wondering why he bothered, why he didn't simply accept his fate. It took effort to remember his father, his sister, his mother – to remember that fucking the deliciously-smelling creature next to him was a bad idea.

Orsino had stayed motionless the entire time, sitting with his back resting against a dead magister's statue, never once trying to address Garrett or help him deal with his distress. When the mage finally did speak up Garrett flinched.

"Are you married?"

The question came out of nowhere, didn't make sense.

There was something almost _like_ a wedding for bonded couples: A ceremony for an alpha and an omega to exchange vows, declare mutual support, maybe even love in certain cases. A wedding – and the whole idea of marriage, really – was just an imitation of the bond, a placebo for betas who were unable to and alphas who had given up on finding a mate.

Theirs was the original ceremony, an old and strictly formal one, dating back to the time before the Chantry was established. Even the vows an alpha could swear were predestined: There were twelve major and seventy-nine minor ones that were socially accepted, ranging from fidelity to financial support. Normally one would only use five or six vows at most, and the spectators would judge the alpha and his relationship depending on which ones he chose.

Not for the first time during the last few hours Garrett wondered what he could or should promise Orsino. Love was not an option for an accidental bonding – it wouldn't be believable, would send the wrong message. The vows concerning abominations and blood magic were the most common choice for templars, but also bloody and visceral, not quite what Garrett had always expected from his own wedding.

He noticed his thoughts straying, how they shifted from determination to acceptance. He squashed those new impulses with memories of his sister, her empty, hollow expression as she first laid eyes on the weeping statues of the Gallows. It gave him enough focus to turn his attention back to the task at hand.

The elfroot still smelled fine, but its color was worrying; there was no alternative to using it anyway, but he would have preferred to know what he was getting into. He was supposed to crush and mix it with the others before cooking it, but that was not really an option right now. Carefully he began chewing on it, slightly put off by its taste.

This wasn't going to work. He knew it as he took the first bite. But what choice did he have?

"Do you have a lover? A fiancée, perhaps?"     

Garrett didn't, and forced himself to ignore the possibilities their current situation created. It was easier not to think about what he could gain if he gave up on his plan, what he would lose if he was successful.

The thoughts came anyway.

No matter what he did, his romantic prospects had been reduced to two alternatives: He could either find some way to pursue a relationship with the First Enchanter, or choose to abandon his hopes for love and a family for good.

Again he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind.

He bit down hard on the stale elfroot and retrieved his final tool from his belt: A short, thin knife, too delicate to be of use in actual combat, but suitable for the task at hand. Its blade gleamed ominously in the feeble light. At least he had been prudent enough to keep this one in perfect condition.

His hands weren't shaking yet, which was a good sign. He could still do this.

Whenever he had thought about it, during those early years before he had decided what kind of man he wanted to be, he had never been able to keep the blade steady, even though he hadn't planned on doing anything with it back then. Just thinking about it had been enough to cause his hands to shake, his breathing to grow ragged. He had never been this calm.

"What is it, then?", Orsino finally said, exasperated. "Are you not interested in _knife-ears_? Is the thought of touching a _robe_ that horrifying?"

The insults shattered Garrett's focus: The words Orsino used, the tone of his voice reminded Garrett of other templars whose conversations he had overheard during the last few days.

He turned around with a start. "What?"

"I'm just trying to figure out why the prospect of bonding with me seems to disturb you this much."

The elf was looking at him, his expression a mixture of anger and – something Garrett couldn't quite place, something that didn't make sense.

It almost seemed as if Orsino was _insulted_ by Garrett's lack of interest.

"I told you already", he tried to reassure the mage. "We are not going to bond."

He had said it often over the course of the last few hours (but had it been hours? He had no sense of time in the Harrowing Chamber), although he might have been trying to convince himself rather than the mage. It served to strengthen his resolve, and helped him to remain calm.

The First Enchanter's eyes narrowed. Even that simple gesture looked almost enticing to Garrett in his current condition. He had discovered that he quite liked Orsino's eyes. Their color was in no way unusual for an elf, but they had a way of betraying his emotions even when the mage tried his best to conceal them. In Garrett's opinion this made him strangely vulnerable, sort of the opposite of an adept diplomat, oddly unsuitable for the position of First Enchanter. Suitable, however, for an omega: He would never be able to conceal arousal, or desire, or fear. Even without the bond Garrett would be able to read him easily, determine his needs, fuck him the way he liked to be fucked.

The taste of elfroot in his mouth helped him to snap out of it. He looked at Orsino again, tried to remember how he had seen him in the past few months, how Bethany saw him.

Those fascinating green eyes looked at him in frustration.

"I know I might not be the kind of mate you would have chosen for yourself", Orsino hissed, "but don't you think it's time for you to acknowledge our situation?"

Oh, Garrett had acknowledged it: Some part of him longed to _accept_ it, but that was simply impossible. In three days from now, when he could think straight again, he would hate himself for that decision, would never be able to forgive himself until the day he died.

Garrett waved Orsino's question off with a casualness that did not match his emotions.

"Don't worry about anything. I'm not going to touch you."

The mage's eyes never left his face. His voice was deceptively calm as he spoke again, nearly devoid of emotion, but the expression in those light green pools was intense.

"Ever since the Circles were established there have only been three elven First Enchanters. Both my race and my skill as a mage make me a valuable prize. By all means being locked up in here with me should be the best thing that has ever happened to you."

That got a reaction from Garrett.

It was instinctual, had to be: If he had been able to think about it he probably would have remembered his courtesies in time.

He simply couldn't help himself: He laughed.

It was just too funny, too ridiculous. He had never heard such a good joke in his life. He laughed long and hard, and the high walls reflected his voice, making it sound as if at least five different people had joined in.

He couldn't comprehend what Orsino was saying. His words made no sense in Garrett's world.

Only a Circle mage could talk about bonding like that. Only a Circle mage would be disappointed, _indignant_ that an alpha wasn't looking forward to mating. It was obvious that Orsino had never been a free mage, had never left the Circle for an extended period of time after his magic had manifested.

_Domesticated._ That was what Malcolm had called mages like him. He hadn't meant it as an insult, at least not most of the time. The difference between an apostate and a Circle mage was like the difference between a wild animal and a sheltered pet: Apostates usually were more capable fighters, accustomed to hard work and a life on the run. Circle mages were more agreeable and obedient, as well as better fed and healthier. The lacked the necessary skills to survive outside the confines of their tower, away from their masters who protected and cared for them. They lived in two different worlds, two worlds that had culminated to create a man like Malcolm Hawke, who had always looked over his shoulder, never once able to live in peace.

Malcolm had known both worlds, but only taught his son about one of them.

Garrett realized he was acting like a crazy person, but he just couldn't stop laughing.

Bethany had been wrong: Orsino was not like their father at all. The age was about right, but that had to be the only thing. Otherwise there was nothing about the elf that reminded him of Malcolm, no connection at all, other than the fact that they had both lived in the same tower at some point in time.

It wasn't fair.

As if on cue, he felt cold sweat from on his brow. His hands still held the blade steady, but he realized that he had been staring at it for minutes, unable to proceed with his plan.

It just wasn't fair.

"Why can't you just – ", he began, once he had calmed himself again. "Why can't you just be afraid of bonding? Why do you have to be so calm about this?"

His nerves were starting to catch up with him.

This would be easier if he could see some similarities between Orsino and the other mages on his life. He knew he wouldn't hesitate if it was his father or his sister in here with him. He wouldn't care about old herbs, he would just go ahead without taking anything to numb the pain first. It would be so easy if the First Enchanter showed at least some kind of distress; that way Garrett could play the hero, sacrifice his own desires for someone else's sake.

But like this, with the mage he wanted to protect trying to convince him there was nothing wrong with mating? How was he supposed to find the courage to go through with his plan? Maker, what if he made a mistake, what if the hand holding the knife slipped? He could _die_ if he wasn't careful, and was that really worth it?

"We won't be the first couple that ends up bonding by accident, and I very much doubt we will be the last one", Orsino said simply.

That was the cue for Garrett to offer a way out, to turn this into a story of heroic self-sacrifice.

His solution would be bloody, dangerous, but it was a solution nonetheless.

It was the only thing he hadn't learned from his father. Perhaps Malcolm hadn't even been aware that the option existed; he had certainly never suggested it to his son. Garrett hadn't brought it up either, and with good reason.

Malcolm had been a good father, a good man, had wanted his children to be happy. What if he had disapproved of Garrett's plan, tried to dissuade him from it? What if this was where Malcolm would have drawn the line, what if he had taken Garrett's tools from him, rendering him unable to go through with this?

_Barbaric_ , they had called his method back in Lothering, even though they didn't know his real reason for choosing to develop this particular skill. There were other ways, more _humane_ ones, whatever that was supposed to mean: They had been talking about _animals_ after all, the very thought of performing the procedure on humans preposterous. Those other methods would take months however, weeks at least, and Garrett didn't have that kind of time. He had been looking for a drastic measure with immediate effects, a last resort if he ever found himself in a situation such as this. And now the moment had finally arrived.

This was the moment where he was supposed to offer up his future.

His hopes for his future had been ridiculous, anyway. It wasn't as if he would ever have been able to have a family of his own, a spouse and children – not as long as he had to take care of Bethany and Mother, not as long as they were always on the run, trying to stay one step ahead of the templars. So, he reasoned, he actually wasn't going to give up anything he hadn't already abandoned.

A little bit of meat was the only thing he would truly lose.

It was fine. He had decided _years_ ago that this was _fine_ , so why, why was he just standing there and cradling his knife instead of simply pulling down his breeches and _ending_ it right now?

He tried to laugh again, but the sound he emitted was entirely mirthless.

"I can't do it", he said out loud, surprised despite himself.

There was absolutely no reason for his hesitation, no reason to change his mind. It should be easy, it should be the only alternative. One quick cut was all he needed, two maybe if he screwed up on the first try. He had done this dozens of times, always with animals, of course, but the procedure was basically the same with humans. It wasn't that difficult. Garrett had always thought about it as fixing himself, making himself normal, making himself safe. Why did his resolve have to waver right now, at this crucial moment?

His knife fell from nerveless hands.

"I can't do it."

He ended up on his knees again, retching drily even though he could _feel_ the bile stuck in his throat.

He hated this body he couldn't control, that refused to do his bidding, that made no _sense_ , never matched his feelings. Why did he have to falter when he needed to do something decisive, stand up for what was right, for what he _knew_ to be right?

Was it the pain he feared, or something else, something less tangible?

"I just can't do it."

The admission was both liberating and crushing at the same time. It felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, a burden he had needed to stay grounded, and now he was floating directionless in empty space. What was he supposed to do now, what did that make him?

A sudden sound startled him, and he turned towards the source of the noise like an animal that sensed a dangerous predator approaching.

First Enchanter Orsino was eyeing him warily, one hand closed around the staff lying next to him. He hadn't risen from the floor yet, but his body was coiled to spring, and his gaze flicked from Garrett's face down towards the blade lying next to him on the floor, probably considering what he had been intending to do with it.

Garrett wondered how the mage would react to hearing just what he had intended to do to himself for his sake, and drew a shuddering breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He wondered what the mage thought about him at all: He suddenly became aware of the fact that he hadn't been acting like the most emotionally stable person ever since they had been locked up in here.

He looked at the mage he would soon mate with more closely, and seriously considered the possibility of bonding for the first time in years.

On the few occasions he had been honest enough to himself to admit that he would not be averse to bonding, he had always imagined it would be different. First and foremost he had thought it would be with another apostate (he had never seen himself ending up in a Circle), a woman or a man, a human or an elf; his fantasies had changed depending on his mood and the current object of his affection.

They would have taken things slow. He would have explained how his father had raised him, make his partner see that he was different from other alphas. Before they would have talked about bonding he would have pursued a relationship, and they would have had a long talk about consent. When they finally mated it would have been because both of them would have wanted it.

But this thing here, this accident, this atrocity, this was as if the Maker was mocking him. It felt as if someone had read his thoughts and turned a blissful dream into the worst nightmare anyone could have come up with.

That didn't have to mean anything, however. He could use the remaining time to get to know Orsino, share some parts of his own history (not the whole truth, of course – he didn't yet know whether the First Enchanter could be trusted), establish what they both expected from this relationship.

But first there was something even more important they would have to talk about.

Quickly he gathered his remaining herbs and dragged them over to the First Enchanter. Orsino rose to his feet as he came closer, holding out his staff to keep him at bay. The lyrium in Garrett's veins flared up as he felt the mage preparing a cast, and he stopped a few feet away from the elf.

"Here", he said as he held his herbs out in front of him, trying to look non-threatening. "I have got elfroot, deathroot, spindleweed and blood lotus. You can have it all. You should take it before your heat starts, that way you'll be able to endure it more easily. None of it is fresh, but it should help numb the pain somewhat. You can use the lyrium to – "

He hesitated, hoping Orsino would grasp his meaning without him going into detail. This was not a conversation he had thought he would ever have with a First Enchanter.

"Well", Garrett began awkwardly, "I know it has never been intended to be used this way, but it's a liquid, and it's probably going to work better than spit, so – "

He saw the exact moment the elf realized what he was getting at; he nearly dropped his staff in surprise, and the oppressive feeling of an impending spell faded. Big green eyes grew even larger in shock, before they narrowed again in contempt and anger.

"You want to – ?", Orsino stammered. "No. I refuse. You will not touch me before you absolutely have to."

"If you don't want me to do it, you will have to do it yourself. But some sort of preparation – "

"Do you seriously expect me to put on a show before my heat sets in?", Orsino snarled. "I'm beginning to think I would have been better off if I had been trapped in here with Ser Karras instead. His interest was straight-forward and fairly uncreative, at least."

Garrett ignored the irrational bout of jealousy that shot through him at that last comment.

"I am not going to watch you", he explained. "But this is going to hurt if we don't do anything in advance. I won't be able to be gentle, or patient. You will – "

"I won't feel anything", Orsino interjected. "During the heat an omega does not experience any pain."

Garrett's eyebrows shot up. "Is that what they told you?", he couldn't help but ask, surprised that the templars would lie to their charges so unabashedly. "You're going to be even _more_ sensitive than normal. That's not –"

"Oh? And who made you the expert on this topic?", the mage shook his head in dismissal. "Just sit back down in your corner and keep lamenting your fate."

Hawke sighed. He put the herbs in his hands down on the floor as he realized that he needed them for gesturing.

"Perhaps you're right. You probably no more about this than I do", he admitted. "But surely it can't be wrong to take precautions. I mean, you're obviously –", Garrett paused, and sought for a way to explain his reasoning without insulting the First Enchanter in the process. Perhaps he should cut off his balls after all, simply to save himself the embarrassment. Still, he stumbled onward awkwardly. "You're an elf, and I'm – well, I'm not. I've been with enough elves to know that this can be – difficult on your kind, even under better circumstances. The size difference alone is – "

"Your concern for my welfare is touching", Orsino said in a tone that implied he was not touched at all, and certainly had no desire to be touched in the future. "But I assure you, I will be fine. Let us simply wait in silence and forget we ever had this conversation."

Garrett shook his head determinedly. He looked at the mage again, taking in his small frame, his slender legs, his narrow waist. He had accepted that there was no way to avoid mating, but the least he could for him was make this experience less painful.

He had an idea.

It wasn't one of his better ones.

It wasn't even a remotely good one.

It was probably the result of the mage's close proximity, of that deliciously-infuriating smell that was constantly on his mind. Perhaps he had finally lost his mind as a result of the emotional turmoil he was going through – they wouldn't know until this was over, until he and Orsino could try to have a normal conversation, their words and actions unaffected by their hormones. He took a few steps forward, trusting that Orsino would not hurl a fireball at his head, and stopped only when they stood close enough to touch, thinking it would be more difficult for the mage to avert his eyes this way.

The first few weeks after he had received his templar armor he had struggled with it, and it had taken him half an hour to put in on properly. Now, after wearing it every day for months routine had taken over, and he didn't even need to think about what he was doing. His fingers found the clasps holding his breastplate and the long _skirt_ , as his father had always called it, together, undoing them with a practiced motion. That was the difficult part; undoing his belt and pulling down his breeches and his smallclothes afterwards didn't even take a second.

"W-what are you – ?!"

It was surreal, but then again, what about their current predicament wasn't? He just had to overcome the first bout of embarrassment, the impulse to cover himself again, and he would get through this.

"There", Garrett said with finality, pointing at his cock in exasperation. "That's it. So tell me, can you take that without preparation?"

Orsino seemed torn between staring and averting his eyes. His first reaction had been to turn his head determinedly to the side, shortly before his eyes flicked back to Garrett's crotch. He stared at it for longer than what was probably socially acceptable (Garrett wasn't sure, didn't know society's rules about randomly dropping his pants in public); he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Hawke doubted anyone had seen Kirkwall's First Enchanter this flustered before, and would have grinned with the knowledge that he was the cause of his distress if the whole situation hadn't been this... whatever-this-was.

Garrett was slightly bigger than normal for a man his size, a fact most of his human partners had appreciated, whereas elves had always found it intimidating. He couldn't exactly blame them: The first time he had been with an elf had been his first time _ever_ ; he had been inexperienced, ignorant, impatient. To say it been a less than satisfying for his partner was a euphemism bordering on cruelty: He had hurt the girl, no, worse, he had _injured_ her. He couldn't bear the thought of doing that to anyone else, ever again.

"Orsino", he said, his voice strangely calm considering the fact that the omega he had fantasized about for days was staring at his cock. "Once your heat starts I won't be able to be patient or considerate, but we still have time. You can try to get used to it beforehand." He pointed at the floor in front of him. "Use the lyrium and your own fingers. It will be unpleasant, but it will be much better than going into this unprepared, believe me."

It was too difficult to focus on those large green eyes anymore. They darted about restlessly, never once settling on anything, and it became clear that their owner was out of his depth.

It was probably not only the size that had the omega this disturbed; the very shape had to be different than what he was used to, as well as the texture (but Orsino wouldn't find that out until it was too late); elves were much softer, marred by less imperfections.

There were also Garrett's balls, thick and hairy and still attached to him, despite his earlier intent to rectify that situation. He wondered whether the mage had ever considered getting fucked before, or whether this was the first time the scenario went through his head.

Eventually Orsino spoke. Garrett had expected him to shout at him, demand that he pull his breeches back up, but instead his voice was much quieter than what he had grown used to.

"I can't use your lyrium", The First Enchanter explained and ran one of his hands through his hair. A nervous gesture. "The dosage you templars need is different from the one mages usually rely on. We don't know what effect it could have on me."

Shit. He hadn't thought about that. Garrett considered whether they had any alternatives, but came up with nothing.

The mage drew a shuddering breath. He seemed unable to make up his mind, so Hawke decided to give him an additional incentive.

"That's neither my full length nor my true girth. I'm not hard yet. Try to imagine the knot at the base."

The thought didn't seem to reassure the omega in the slightest. His fingers moved through his hair again, and he shifted in place, as if he wanted to turn away but couldn't, had forgotten how. Garrett vaguely wondered just how sheltered Circle mages really were, and at the same time recalled Malcolm's stories about how casual rape was treated inside Kirkwall's tower. What had the mage this distressed, which interpretation was right?

"I never wanted any of this", Garrett clarified. "But I'll do my best to make this easy on you. And afterwards I'll – " What could he do for Orsino, what could he promise that he hadn't already offered to Bethany and Mother? What could he give that wouldn't interfere with his plans of freeing his sister? There was a reason none of his relationships had lasted very long. Family came first, always. "Afterwards I'll... we'll see. We'll talk about that later. Please believe me when I say that it never was, and will never be my intention to hurt you."

Orsino remained still, hesitating.

Perhaps the mage would be more productive if Garrett simply pulled his breeches back up.

He couldn't, though. It was stupid and probably hopeless, but as long as he stood there with cock within reach of the omega's hands he clung to the faint hope that Orsino might end up touching it.

But the mage just shook his head.

"I appreciate the thought, but this is just too much."

"Orsino, don't-" _Don't do this to me._

He was already starting to forget that he was supposed to refer to this mage by his proper title. Soon Garrett would forget he had a name at all. Already it was difficult to keep himself on track, force words out that were supposed to encourage the mage to keep his distance rather than step closer, tell Orsino to wrap his fingers around his cock or suck him off instead of just staring at it.

Eventually the mage spoke, his voice shaking. "Very well. What do you suggest?"

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They didn't speak much to each other after that.

Orsino withdrew behind one of the statues that lined the walls, while Garrett himself settled on the floor at the other end of the room, as far away from the mage as possible.

He hardly noticed the passage of time. They had already spent hours in here, he was sure of it, but now time stretched endlessly, seconds turning into minutes, into days, into years.

The acoustics in the Harrowing Chamber were impressive. Garrett wasn't sure whether that was intentional or merely an unexpected side-effect; either way, the high walls reflected any and all sounds, and it was driving Garrett mad.

_Nervous panting. The rustling of robes, silk and velvet, Garrett was certain. Small, wet sounds, nearly impossible to make out under normal circumstances. Slow, experimental movements. Every once in a while a sharp intake of breath, following by a drawn-out sigh._

It was torture.

Garrett had told Orsino to take it slow, take his time, and it was torture. He had no idea how long he would be able to sit still without walking over there and asking whether the mage needed a hand. He could feel the omega, sense his presence, sense how close he was. His brain forced him to picture what the elf was doing, what kind of expression he was wearing.

The sounds were ambiguous. Garrett couldn't tell whether the mage was preparing himself as they had agreed, or whether he was jerking off, which was equally probable at this stage. He had to go over there and make sure the mage was doing it right, didn't waste their precious time by fooling around.

He had to _see_.

He had already stood up and crossed half the room before he reminded himself why this was a bad idea. Determinedly he returned to his corner and sat back down.

He might be losing himself, but he wasn't completely gone yet.

With every minute that passed, it got harder to remember his family. For the first time in his life he felt unburdened, almost carefree – or at least more carefree than he had ever been before.

For the first time in his life he felt as if everything was going to be alright.

He had waited this long, he could stand to persevere just a little bit longer. It was definitely going to happen, and it would feel better if he waited, if his first time with an omega would also result in a bond. Just a little longer.

Now the mage had definitely found a rhythm.

His breath hitched, once, twice; the sighs increased in frequency, shuddered sometimes. The sound of soft skin scraping along uneven floor as he spread his legs further apart (Did he? Was that what he was doing? Garrett didn't know, he just didn't know). The wet sounds grew louder, faster, and by now Garrett's erection was _killing_ him – good thing he had been smart enough to take his breeches and greaves off completely, so his armor wouldn't constrict him. He was naked from the waist down, and past the point of caring.

He was almost gone, almost, but not quite.

His current state was nearly unbearable: He needed to fuck the mage but still remembered that he couldn't, shouldn't. There was still something holding him back, even though he kept forgetting what it was. He had to resist as long as he could, that was important, that _mattered_ , but it took conscious effort to recall the reason.

The only thing he could do without getting into conflict with his conscience was jerking off, but that sounded like a waste with an omega this close. He could be patient, he could wait, and he probably wouldn't lose his mind in to process.

It didn't help that hunger and thirst had begun to gnaw at him.

Slick sounds, fast and steady, and the mage was _definitely_ enjoying himself now. He had to be doing it wrong: That didn't sound like an elf spreading himself. Not that Garrett knew what that was supposed to sound like; he had never listened this closely, had never needed to. No, that couldn't be right, the mage _had to be_ jerking off. The stupid bastard was having fun while Garrett just sat there and pined after him. He should go over there right now and –

\- remember his family. His mother, his father, his sister, his brother. Yeah, he remembered them. So what? That only made it weird. He didn't want to think about Carver while he was fantasizing about an omega touching himself. That was just wrong.

Carver had never wanted a mage.

His brother had been weird like that.

Carver had probably never felt the need to cut off his balls to be the person he had always wanted to be.

Muffled gasps that turned into moans, into _whimpers_ , high-pitched and needy.

It wasn't fair.

What would other alphas do in his situation, and why did he have to be better than that? If it had been Ser Karras in here, Orsino would probably have been fucked twice already: Once on the way up to the Harrowing Chamber, and a second time once he had realized there was no way out. Why couldn't his brain be simple like that, why was he going to hate himself for this once it was over?

He had always tried to do the right thing, so why did that have to make him miserable? Was this reward or punishment?

He couldn't say, didn't know, and it really would have been easier if he had used the knife, used it years ago: He would have been the best son, the best brother ever, he would have been so _good_ if he hadn't been such a coward.

But he had wanted an omega, always, always, _always_ , as long as he could remember, even though he wasn't sure why – who was he kidding, he knew, he had always known: Omegas were family, had always been family, and he wanted that for himself as well; he _wanted_ the danger, the constant struggle, a partner that relied on his protection. That was just the way it was, the only life he knew.

An apostate would have been perfect, would have been _his_ , the one thing a First Enchanter could never truly be: Every single one of his decisions affected the Circle as a whole, and that wasn't fair, either – Garrett had wanted to be responsible for _one_ mage, not for _all_ of them.

Garrett groaned and balled his hands into fist, trying his best not to touch himself.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Two hours later Garrett woke to the feeling of someone licking his balls.

Short, hesitant licks, inexperienced, trying to please him but uncertain as to how this could be accomplished. It was annoying rather than satisfying, teasing rather than pleasurable. The tongue moved upwards to his already stiff cock, followed the thick vein underneath while chapped lips pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to his flesh. Slender fingers gently caressed the wiry black hair around his crotch; a second hand was braced on his thigh, trembling slightly.

Without opening his eyes Garrett reached for the head nestled between his legs and pressed it roughly against his cock. Its owner went completely still, the tongue disappeared, and Garrett could feel the shiver running through the other person's body. With a grunt Garrett started rubbing up against that smooth cheek and reveled in the feeling of warm, soft skin and even softer hair. It was not enough, not nearly enough.

His eyes snapped open, and he was slightly disappointed upon seeing that the omega in front of him was still mostly clothed. Garrett himself was still wearing his breastplate as well as his lighter leather armor underneath, but he had freed the essential parts. He couldn't be bothered to remove the other parts of his armor, not even his gauntlets, which currently had the omega's hair in a tight grip.

Garrett growled in warning, wordlessly reprimanding his bitch for touching him without his permission. It wasn't how these things were done: An omega had to wait for his alpha to come to him, choose him, claim him; all they had to do was lie down and take it, accept the mate who chose them. Slightly annoyed he pulled the mage's head away from his crotch and pushed him onto his back.

The elf went easily, willingly, spread his legs in the process, happily offering his body to him. Garrett struggled with his intricate robes for a moment before he simply started tearing, ripping, until the cloth gave way. The mage's eyes lit up as his skin was bared, and before long he struggled to assist him by pulling off his gloves and his boots, and Garrett growled once more – it was useless, pointless, distracting: His hole was the only thing Garrett was after, not his hands and feet. Impatiently he batted the mage's hands away and tore through multiple layers of clothing with his gauntlets instead, until he finally laid eyes on his prize.

He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

The mage was thin, almost emaciated; Hawke could count his ribs, examined the pale, almost sickly white skin stretched taut over the delicate bones. There was neither fat nor muscle on the elf. Garrett was almost reluctant to touch him out of fear he would hurt him, break him, uncertain whether this creature would be able to handle the mating he had been looking forward to.

Another disappointment was the thing between the mage's legs, the small cock pointing straight at Garrett; he had been hoping for a female, preferably one with wide hips that would result in an easy birth. This body was not like that fantasy at all – narrow hips, small shoulders, completely hairless – and odd and foreign besides.

HIs age was yet another issue, causing Garrett to wonder whether mating with this creature would be worth it: The mage might have five good years left, ten at most – afterwards he would be a burden.

Instinct compelled him to look around the room, checking whether there was no other omega hiding behind the statues, someone that would make a better choice. If he found one he wouldn't think twice about it, wouldn't bother to touch this creature in front of him: He was about to bond for life, after all, and didn't want to waste his seed.

The mage beneath him saw his attention straying and wrapped his legs around his waist, trying to hold him there. Soft, warm thighs drew him closer to his target; long, delicate fingers stroked his chest even though Hawke couldn't feel it, caressed his breastplate as if they were tracing the skin underneath. Garrett grunted, didn't have the willpower to resist, pressed his cock against the omega's own and watched the elf shiver. Vibrant green eyes looked up at him, saw only him; he tried to recall the last time anyone had looked at him like that and drew a blank. With those slender thighs squeezing him it was hard to remember other people existed, that they had existed at all. He felt as if he was drowning, about to lose himself in the heavy scent that enveloped him. There was nothing else worth considering.

"Hands and knees", he ordered.

Speaking was difficult, but they needed to do this right, the way it was supposed to be, even if Garrett thought their current position was pretty damn good already. They had time, they had two whole days, they could do a lot of things – but the first time had to be right.

The mage's reaction was immediate: His eyes lit up in relief, but instead of letting Garrett go so he could roll over he pulled him even closer, rubbed his infuriating member against Garrett's own in his attempt to shift, open his legs wider, trying to get Hawke to fuck him like this. He gave the mage another warning growl in return, another few seconds to obey his command – but the mage just smiled, moved both of his hands to the back of Garrett's head, stroking the short hairs he found there.

The elf had gotten his chance, and Hawke was in no mood for games. He grabbed the thighs around his waist, dug his fingers in deep enough for his gauntlets to draw blood, and let go again when the mage tried to escape the pain, letting his legs fall back down. He still didn't seem to get it – his fingers didn't let go of Garrett's neck.

"Hands and knees", he repeated, and this time he didn't wait for the omega to comply. He gripped the mage's narrow hips, forcibly trying to flip him over. The omega struggled, but Garrett hardly felt it, overcame his feeble resistance easily. After a brief grapple the mage was forced to give up and finally assumed the position Garrett had been looking forward to, exposing his back.

Garrett's eyes went wide in shock as he saw what the mage had tried to conceal from him – for a few moments he just stared, unable to comprehend.

He hadn't expected the marks.

Long, white lines, some of them as thick as thumb, others as thin as a fingernail. There were too many to count, especially in Garrett's current state of mind: It seemed as if the mage's whole back consisted solely of pale, deadened scar tissue where a whip had torn his skin. The wounds looked old, but it was difficult to tell, and Garrett was no expert – they could have been inflicted months or decades ago. He tried to imagine how they had looked when they were fresh, and was instantly consumed by a boundless anger.

It wasn't pity that moved him. It was the implication, the visible proof that someone else had already touched the omega he intended to mate with.

There was the irrational impulse to erase those lines, or better, to trace them with his gauntlets or his knife, change them, turn them into something else; his name perhaps, or something equally obvious that would serve as proof the omega was _his_ now.

Oh, he was going to leave some marks of his own, alright.

Garrett gripped those narrow hips. There was a startled yelp, but not the least bit of resistance as the omega was dragged across the floor. Good – Garrett wanted him to feel this days after his heat was over, and scraping his knees raw and bloody would be a good start.

His hands looked almost ridiculously large on the elf's slender hips. He would most likely be able to leave bruising marks on the pale skin even if he weren't wearing his gauntlets, even without exerting much force. With a grin he let his right hand stray lower, circled the mage's entrance with his thumb, breeched him when the omega pushed back eagerly.

Apparently the elf had decided not to heed his earlier warnings: His finger met intense resistance as he forced his way inside, even though the mage didn't struggle in the slightest. Instead he was rewarded with a helpless gasp and a shiver as his mate struggled with the feeling of being invaded by cold metal. The slim body went rigid, but held his position, allowing Garrett to continue, to do whatever he wanted.

His bitch merely turned his head. Heavily dilated pupils stared back at Hawke, eager and impatient, the light green pools he had come to appreciate almost entirely swallowed by black.

They had already waited far too long.

Garrett hastily pulled his finger out of the willing mage and struggled to line himself up properly; instinct compelled him to hump the mage at an awkward angle, searching for a different hole that didn't exist. Still, rubbing himself against that smooth, soft skin felt divine – its texture was different from what he was used to, the thighs he slipped between slender and devoid of muscle, the balls he sometimes brushed against small and hairless. His mate spread his legs further, trying to sink lower to the floor, helping Garrett's cock to find its target.

Hawke had never tried to fuck an elf without proper preparation before. He kept one hand clamped around the omega's waist to get him to stop wriggling and just _hold still_ , and tried to guide himself in with the other. He hissed harshly as his own cold fingers encircled his sensitive cock, determined to bury it inside the pliant body in front of him as quickly as possible. His first few tries were futile – the mage wanted it, needed it, but clearly wasn't used to mating this way. Even though he pushed back against Garrett, the small entrance continued to reject him, hadn't been made for this, caused his anger to rise.

It didn't take longer than a few seconds, but it certainly felt much longer; finally the alpha forced his way inside with an inarticulate shout, screaming out his triumph for the world to hear.

His mate screamed for an entirely different reason.

Garrett had known the omega would be tight, yes, that much had to be expected, but he had misjudged just how _fucking painful_ it would be.

It was almost too much, feeling the elf's walls convulse and quiver around his cock, pulsing in time with his frantic heartbeat. Every inch he forced himself deeper inside was a challenge, every thrust of his hips sent the mage skidding across the floor, desperately scrambling for purchase. Every second was exquisite torture – slick, tight heat, and it was not enough, he needed to go deeper, all the way.

The elf was wet, not as wet as an omega half his age would have been, but still ready, inviting; Garrett could feel his body opening up to accept him. He was perfect, met all of his thrusts by pushing back against him, helping Garrett's advance. The omega grit his teeth and hissed in pain, but still held his position, took him as if he had been looking forward to this for years. Like Hawke he was probably at least slightly distracted by the alphas and betas that had gathered on the other side of the door, calling out his name.

_First Enchanter Orsino_ , Garrett remembered for an instant, before the name was lost again. It was far too easy to forget everything around him, to focus on exploring the elf's depths, on the feeling of this eager, hot body shivering beneath him.

It was strange, different in all the right ways. He couldn't bury himself all the way in those tight confines, not yet; his knot hadn't fully formed yet, and the base of his cock was weirdly sensitive, making him tense and growl whenever he pushed too far. Two conflicting feelings forcing him to thrust shallowly, rut into the elf at a brisk pace the old omega couldn't hope to match, flinching back whenever he forced himself too deep and his nerves flared up in pain. It had to be enough for now.

No, it wasn't enough, not nearly enough, he needed to touch, to _feel;_ he let go of the mage's hips long enough to rip one of gauntlets off. Just as expected bright red bruises stayed where his fingers had rested, but Garrett didn't care, hardly noticed them. His freed hand traced the scarred lines across his spine, trailed along the elf's flank, snaked around his chest so Garrett could feel his erratic heartbeat through his skin. His chest rose and feel with each ragged breath he took – Hawke stroked his chest soothingly until he found a small, erect nipple; with a malicious grin he rubbed, pinched and twisted it until his bitch _keened._

The mage trembled, could hardly hold still – even Garrett's growls didn't help anymore. Still tried to impale himself on Garrett's cock as well as he could, even though the strain on his body had to be intense.

His mate's ragged cries were music to Hawke's ears; he could hardly hear his own panting. He wrapped both of his arms around the mage's chest and draped himself over his back to mount him properly. As soon as Garrett's full weight came crashing down on the elf both his knees and his arms gave out and the mage fell forward, screamed as his own cock was crushed beneath his body. Garrett himself wasn't too pleased about this new position; the angle made it impossible to rut his bitch at the rough, savage pace he had been aiming for. But it also had its advantages – every time the mage's cock was dragged across the floor he gasped and flinched, clenching down hard around Garrett.

Still, a punishment was in order for failing to fulfill his expectations. Garrett dug a gauntleted hand into his side, raking his fingers along the tender skin, tearing it; there was an apologetic whimper as he drew blood again.

The mage spoke. Speech was difficult to comprehend in his current condition, so it took Garrett a few seconds to decipher the meaning of the words.

"Yours", the omega repeated over and over as Garrett continued to ravage his insides. "I'm yours."

Technically he wasn't, not yet, not until they were properly tied, not until Garrett filled him with his seed, but that was only a matter of time right now.

The bitch took Garrett's cock more easily now; the part of his face Hawke could see was still a mask of panic and pain, but some of the tension had drained from him. His body was beginning to adapt, grew accustomed to Garrett's girth, was still tight, but no longer painfully so. The elf had found some way to get his legs underneath his body again, which resulted in a better angle for penetration. The obscene, wet sound of flesh hitting flesh, of Hawke thrusting into his mate over and over again was louder than the voices outside the room. Garrett could tell there was another alpha out there, just on the other side of the door, and wondered whether they could hear them. He grinned viciously.

"Mine", he confirmed, and the mage shuddered. Garrett rubbed soothing circles into the skin, just above the spot where he had marked him earlier. He pulled out of the elf, until only the head of his cock remained inside his hole, then slammed himself back in, drawing a ragged cry from his mate. He did that once, twice, thrice, more often than he could count – slow and gentle at first, then fast and rough when he found his rhythm again.

He drew another keen from the omega as his mouth found one of those ridiculously long ears by accident. His beard brushed along the sensitive tip, causing it to twitch slightly. The omega's hand reached out to find one of Garrett's own on his hip, tried to intertwine their fingers.

Outside, the other alpha roared in outrage.

The voice was nearly unrecognizable, didn't belong to a human, didn't belong to a creature capable of complex thoughts. It was a primal shout of rage, an animal's cry, equal parts wrath, jealousy and bloodlust. It was a sound Garrett understood effortlessly, much easier than any other language he had ever encountered.

The alpha alternately hit and clawed at the door, trying to force their way through while continuing to scream in frustration. Garrett could almost taste their anger. It was nearly as intoxicating as the omega's scent: The knowledge that there was someone else who wanted his mate, someone who would try to tear his head off with their own hands just to take his place, to claim the mage that Garrett was spearing with his cock made it all that much better. His grin widened until his mouth started to hurt.

He decided to put on a good show for his blind audience.

He had half a mind to drag the omega across the room and fuck him against the door, so the other alpha could better hear what they were missing out on– but to do that he would have to pull out of the elf, and the very idea sounded like torture to him. There had to be another way to really rub it in, let the other know that the omega was his now.

Determinedly his mouth sought out the elf's ear again, while Garrett tried to remember how this worked. He knew that, when he was in possession of his wits, he was able to lick and suck the elongated tip until his mate came – he had done it with others before, it was definitely possible – but right now it wasn't, not when he was focused on the feeling of the elf trembling and clenching around him. Like an overzealous mabari he lapped at the elf's ear, enveloping it with his tongue and coating it in saliva. His mate's breath hitched and he turned his head to the side to grant him easier access to one of his most vulnerable spots. A gesture of trust and submission.

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

He needed to make his bitch _scream._

Hawke sucked the tip into his mouth and felt the elf quiver in fear around him as Garrett's teeth brushed against it. An elf's ear was impossibly sensitive – it had a boundless capacity for both pleasure and pain, and the line separating the two was a flimsy one. It had taken Garrett a long time to figure out that even the scrape of his beard could bring his partners pain, that they weren't moaning in pleasure. This one seemed to get off on it, anyway, eagerly pressing back against Garrett's now fully inflated knot, trying to complete their coupling. Hawke chuckled at his reaction, ran his tongue along his ear again – a final gentle gesture – before wrapping his mouth around the tip once more. There was no warning, nothing to prepare the mage for the moment when Garrett bit down as hard as he could

The elf didn't scream.

He _howled_.

For a crazy second Garrett thought the elf liked it as his hole clenched hard enough around him to cut off all blood flow. His mate thrashed around desperately, tried to pull his head away, tried to shake him off, but Garrett simple ignored his feeble attempts of resistance. As his teeth pierced skin his hunger flared to life, his thirst; needs he had completely ignored until now, distracted as he was by more important urges. The elf's sweet blood hit his tongue and spread through his mouth, but he didn't dare to swallow it; he focused on holding on with his teeth instead, not allowing the mage to escape.

Before long pained yells turned into pleas: Small incoherent noises begging for mercy, for compassion, for everything Garrett wasn't willing to give.

His cock was rock-hard, but his knot was harder still – it itched fiercely, irritated by the cold air. Instinctively he knew he had to bury it inside the struggling body in front of him to make it stop hurting, even if the slender creature couldn't take it, even if Garrett would tear his mate apart in the process. He chewed harder on his ear as he tried to force his way deeper, but the elf resisted, attempted to twist away.

For some reason it excited him, seeing the mage struggle. It felt right, perfect, better than Garrett had imagined: Holding him down, using him against his will, fucking him through the pain, tasting his blood and despair on his tongue. This was what it should be like.

He recalled the words someone had said to him every day for years, the words that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. He grasped their true meaning now, and wondered why he had been so terrified of them.

_It is about power, about proving one's superiority. It is rape, Garrett, nothing else._

The door shook as it was hit by a heavy weight. Garrett could feel the other alpha's outrage as if they were standing right next to him. The anger, the contempt, the pure _hatred_ he felt radiating from the other pierced his skin, tore through his skull, embedded itself in his brain.

With every fiber of his being he wished for that alpha to see what he was doing to _her_ omega, that woman whose orders he had obeyed for months even though he despised her, even though she was hardly aware of his existence. He wanted her to know that he wasn't just one of her knights, one of her subordinates; he had proved that he was better by taking what was rightfully hers, what should have been hers if she hadn't –

A mere fragment of a thought that made no sense, a story he had heard that didn't match his feelings. If what he had been told was true the woman should have already taken a mate – Garrett shouldn't react this strongly to her. But if that door opened he knew they would tear each other apart until only one of them remained, the true alpha, worthy of mating with an omega. The mage had lied.

But the door held, and nothing else mattered.

He gripped the elf's buttocks with both hands and pulled, trying to spread him even further. By now the elf was struggling half-heartedly; the ear in Garrett's mouth still twitched helplessly, but its owner seemed to have realized that escape was impossible. He continued whimpering and keening, however, and Garrett tried to commit those sounds to memory, so he could recall them whenever he was alone at night, thinking about this day.

Forcing his knot inside was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The elf's body wasn't ready for this, wasn't built for this; a cock half of Garrett's size would have given him pleasure, a slightly bigger one would have thrown him into ecstasy – but this was too much, too soon, too late, everything at once.

One particularly vicious thrust made the elf go limb, completely motionless as he was stretched open past his body's capabilities. There was only a soft, disbelieving gasp as Garrett's full length entered him, as the human's balls were pressed against him, as he felt the thick, coarse hair around Garrett's crotch on his soft skin.

_Get used to it_ , Hawke thought, unable to articulate himself as he felt his climax building inside. _From now on I will have you every night, until your hole will be so loose you'll enjoy this as much as I do._

Garrett came with a shout, a cry to answer the other alpha outside, to signal the death of her dreams. As his seed was released the elf bucked against him once, twice, trying to get away as a hole that was already filled to the brim was forced to accept Garrett's semen. Despite his efforts Hawke's knot did its job and prevented even a single drop from slipping back out.

They were well and truly stuck yet Garrett kept thrusting, riding out the last waves of his orgasm, and dragging the mage across the floor in the process. One of his hands, the one still wearing a gauntlet wormed its way between his mate's legs. The elf's member was soft and slick, the floor underneath sticky and wet, but its owner yelled in fear as he felt Garrett's hand on himself.

"Orsino."

The name came back to him, and this time it wasn't immediately lost in oblivion again. He spoke it in wonder, freeing the elf's ear in the process, and the mage twisted as far away as he could, turning his head to the side to shield his bleeding ear. He tried to scramble away, tugging at Hawke's knot while he did so, but apart from dragging a few pleased grunts from Garrett his actions had no effect.

"Orsino", he said again, trying to convey his confusion, to get his feelings across despite his inability to form words.

_What are you doing? We aren't finished yet._

They had two whole days left, after all.

 

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Once Garrett's knot had loosened enough for him to pull out, he remembered his earlier idea and dragged Orsino over to the door and fucked him against the cold steel, mere inches away from the alpha on the other side. By that time his mate was unable to stand on his own; Garrett had to hold him up, but it was worth it to feel him being shoved further down his cock whenever the Knight-Commander battered against the door.

For the third time Garrett laid the elf on his back underneath the statue of a magister who would have looked down on them if he had still had his head. At this point the elf neither struggled nor helped him; he was barely conscious as Garrett entered him again, on the brink of exhaustion.

After that Garrett's memories grew muddled. When he wasn't fucking his mate he was sleeping, his body curled protectively around Orsino's small form. Hours passed like that, days, he wasn't sure, had no way to measure time. As his body grew weaker from lack of food he slept more and fucked less often, concerned about his mate. Hunger and thirst cut the already malnourished elf even deeper than Garrett. As the haze of the heat began to fade Hawke began to remember his responsibilities, tried to get him comfortable, wrapped him in his shredded robes to keep him warm, forced him to chew the remaining herbs and made him drink his lyrium, regardless of the consequences, the only things resembling food they had. He had no idea what he was doing, only that he had to do _something_ before his guilt had a chance to swallow him whole.

On the morning of the third day Garrett woke up in the dungeons, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I'd like to thank all of you for leaving comments. Every review makes my day.
> 
> xxMad_Donaxx: It took me a long time to decide whether or not I wanted to include Karras. I'm always torn whether or not I should include OCs in my stories or simply use the characters the game offers. And most templars in the game are assholes.  
> You will have to wait for chapter 4 to find out what the Orsino was thinking.
> 
> Lalo: Angst is basically the only thing I CAN write. Getting over the issues with his father is something Garrett won't manage - not until the second or third sequel. I hope you liked this chapter, which is supposed to be the culmination of everything that went wrong with his life. 
> 
> cupofsmiles: I'm glad you like it! I'm definitely going to finish this; in fact, the final chapter is nearly half way done (at least, I think it is - every time I think a chapter is nearly ready to be published I get this urge to start over from scratch...). Did this chapter have enough angst for your taste?
> 
> Jat: Yes, Orsino definitely has some issues of his own that will need to be explored eventually. Unfortunately, his way of thinking and Garrett's are hopelessly incompatible right now. They won't see eye to eye anytime soon...
> 
> yfly: I'm happy you like my fics and that I could interest you in the omegaverse. It sounded like the perfect excuse for me to write a shameless PWP... which didn't work out as well as I expected. I seem to be incapable of writing smut without exploring the characters' backgrounds and situations first...
> 
> nohawkdown: I hope you liked how this turned out, now that shit has finally hit the fan. Garrett's inner turmoil will continue for a while, and Orsino won't see how lucky he is to be stuck with him for a loooong time.
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, how do you guys feel about mpreg? I know that's usally a given in any omegaverse, but I can't seem to make up my mind about it...


	4. Latent inhibition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay.  
> This isn't proof-read, so expect plenty of errors.
> 
> Merry Christmas! I hope you like your late gift...
> 
> I was surprised (and relieved) how supportive everyone was of my mpreg-idea, so there you have it. A slight teaser, at least.
> 
> Feel free to comment and tell me what you would like to see in a possible sequel.

They interrogated him, but he couldn't comprehend their questions. He didn't even bother trying.

They were agitated, on edge, their frustration bleeding through their words, and if his mind had been working right he might have been able to gather some clues about his situation. As it was, he was too far gone: In the beginning he asked when they would let him fuck his mate again – then he started begging them for lyrium.

As the effects of the heat faded, Garrett slipped straight into withdrawal.

He had thought the process of getting addicted to lyrium was painful – it had burnt his throat whenever he drank it, burnt him from the inside out, torn its way through the sensitive tissue as if he was swallowing glass – but _not_ using it was a hundred times worse. The stuff was there in his blood, cursing through his veins, except that it _wasn't_ , not anymore; it was as if his body had forgotten how to function without it. His limbs grew heavy and cold as his blood flow slowed down, no longer helped along by the bright blue liquid. Even breathing became a challenge as his body tried to shut down, failing him little by little. Sometimes his vision turned blurry, sometimes he couldn't hear the knights' questions, couldn't feel anything as all sensory information got lost on the way to his brain.

Sometimes he saw or heard things that weren't there at all.

His thoughts were jumbled, all over the place. Too much information that didn't make sense, couldn't exist in the same mind, tearing every last shred of his sanity apart.

_This must be my punishment_ , he decided eventually.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be punished for, couldn't remember, not clearly, not all the time, but he acknowledged that he deserved this treatment nonetheless.

His guards gave him food, new clothes, more questions, and every once in a while a clean chamber pot, but not what he needed most.

They gave him something else, though: Magebane, to suppress the effects of the bond and make sure he wouldn't enter the Fade in his dreams along with his mate –

– as if he wasn't ready for that yet, as if he hadn't been trained, as if his father had ever talked about _anything_ that was not related to magic in some way (and really, the speeches were basically the same: Whether he taught his daughter about the Fade or explained their natural urges to his sons, it always came down to _control)._ Garrett was fairly confident he could handle the Fade even without taking part in the templars' lessons – but then again he had been wrong before.

Garrett told his guards everything they wanted to know, even as his own mind continued to confuse him.

He told them what he had done to Orsino, in great detail, some of it real and some of it only imagined. He told complete strangers about fucking the elf on his hands and knees, on his back, against the walls, about forcing a severely dehydrated man to lick his seed off his cock and the floor, told them everything he could think of, everything he had done and still wanted to do. He told them about cradling the elf's shivering body in his arms after the fever set in, explained that he had been gentle afterwards, hadn't fucked him quite as roughly anymore. Every once in a while he fell silent, unable to find his way through the tale he had woven, startled by its inconsistencies.

Then something would happen to spur him into motion again, something that encouraged him to embellish his story even more, something that made ramble on with enthusiasm once more.

Every once in a while Orsino thought about him.

Not always, not even often, but whenever Garrett least expected it he could feel Orsino reaching out with his mind, intertwining his own thoughts with the battlefield that was Hawke's head. It wasn't much, just a brief acknowledgement that _yes, I haven't forgotten about you_ , but it was enough.

His interrogators didn't seem all that interested in his sex life, however. They asked him what had come before that, how they had ended up in the Harrowing Chamber in the first place, why he had disobeyed his orders, whether he had taken the First Enchanter against his will, why he had assaulted Ser Karras, whether Ruvena's testimony was accurate, and, most important of all, _what the hell he had been thinking_. Their questions made him uncomfortable, made him realize that there had been half a dozen opportunities for him to choose differently, a dozen choices that would have led to a different outcome.

_They know it's your fault_.

Malcolm's voice in his head sounded more real than it ever had when the man had still been alive.

_They know you can't be trusted around mages._

The realization came and went like the tide, returned periodically to crush him beneath waves of self-loathing and apathy. In the days that followed he met the knights' questions with silence more often than not, ignored them, withdrew into himself.

Time passed slowly in the darkness.

 

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"Bethany is safe."

A voice that was vaguely familiar broke through the haze one day (or night? He wasn't sure, hadn't been sure ever since the door of the Harrowing Chamber had closed behind him). It took him nearly half a minute to realize that the voice wasn't in his head, was not a shadow of his past haunting him. Most of the time he was unable to tell the difference.

"Did you hear me? Bethany is safe, if that still matters to you."

He tried to turn to the speaker and promptly fell off the narrow cot he had been resting on. Getting back on his feet was nigh impossible; it felt like he had too many limbs, certainly too many to coordinate them properly. His hands kept slipping on the uneven ground as if they had a mind of their own. He stumbled around awkwardly, unable to even raise his head to face his visitor.

"She still asks about you, you know. Wanted to come down here and see you. I told her it would be a foolish risk to take, especially for someone who has already replaced her."

His head was spinning, and nothing made sense.

When Garrett finally managed to stand he was looking into lyrium-blue eyes, so much like his own, looking down on him in barely-veiled disgust. For a second he was lost, trying to figure out where he had seen this man before, until the flaming red beard spurred his brain into motion.

"Ser Thrask", he said. He almost didn't recognize his own voice – it sounded strange, foreign. Wary, defeated.

Slowly the memories came rushing back.

He had never trusted the other knight, hadn't dared to share his family's secret with him. Even after the man had offered his aid Garrett hadn't told him the truth, but instead merely offered another lie that differed slightly from the one everyone else knew.

As far as Ser Thrask was concerned, Bethany wasn't his sister.

Bethany Hawke and Garrett Sinclair were childhood sweethearts, Garrett had explained, and woven a tragic story about young love: Stolen kisses and whispered promises, most of them heavily influenced by the overly cheesy descriptions in the novels his mother had always enjoyed. He had told Ser Thrask that he and Bethany had grown up in the same village, that he intended to marry her, that he would take care of her after they had escaped...

But he hadn't.

Bethany had been waiting for him, and Garrett hadn't come.

Hawke shook his head. "I haven't – ", he began.

His head hurt, and he forgot the rest of his sentence.

"I don't want to hear your excuses", Thrask said. "I just came here to tell you that she is fine, and that her phylactery is back in the storage room where it belongs. Nobody knows she tried to escape, and nobody will ever find out."

Garrett's frazzled mind didn't catch all of that. He didn't know all the details, but he didn't need to. Thrask had saved his sister, and that was the only thing that mattered. "Thank you."

The other knight frowned, and his face burst into a thousand pieces as Garrett watched, like a mirror shattering. He squinted – sometimes that helped with the hallucinations – and tried to focus on Ser Thrask.

"I didn't do it for you. It was pure chance that I was the first one to find her wandering the hallways after curfew, while the man she was waiting for was busy screwing the First Enchanter."

Garrett's mouth twisted into a sly grin as he thought about Orsino. It had been a while since they had let him talk about that topic.

He briefly wondered whether Thrask had been out there as well, on the other side of the door, one of the betas he had sensed while he had gotten his bitch to scream his throat raw.

The thought was wrong somehow, but he didn't know why.

"He is mine now, not Meredith's", he declared, and felt strangely proud of himself.

"Yes, I know. The whole Circle knows. The whole _City_ knows. Do you have _any_ idea what kind of consequences your actions will have?"

The only consequence Garrett was aware of was that he had been thrown into the dungeons.

It had still been worth it. He would do it all over again if he could.

"Recruits don't get to mate with omegas, and the First Enchanter doesn't get touched by anyone save the Knight-Commander. All those ranks and titles are not just for show. There are rules for this kind of things, Sinclair, and they exist for a reason. It's not every day an omega actually requires medical attention after their bonding. The mages are angry and scared. The alphas are frustrated and jealous. They came to the Knight-Commander, demanding the right to claim omegas of their choosing as well. There've been..." Thrask shook his head. "The Knight-Commander made some concessions, but it remains to be seen whether that will be enough to keep the peace."

Garrett stared blankly at Thrask. He hadn't gotten all of that, but one particular detail stood out.

It had always been his first instinct to focus on the people closest to him, and today was no exception.

"Orsino was hurt?", he asked, honestly confused.

He remembered. The bits and pieces were all there, waiting for him to rearrange them into a meaningful picture. Up until now the effects of withdrawal had distracted him, had prevented him from reaching a conclusion he was not yet ready to face.

_It's not every day an omega actually requires medical attention after their bonding._

The implication was there, impossible to ignore. He tried to sort through his memories, recall what he had actually done to Orsino, what was real and what was fabrication. It was surprisingly easy when he was actively trying. There had been blood on the floor of the Harrowing Chamber, and a mage that struggled, resisted, cried out in pain, even though his mind was _primed_ to enjoy the act.

Ser Thrask took a breath to elaborate, but Garrett cut him off, his surprise turning into anger.

"Don't you _dare_ accuse me of that!", he shouted, ignored Thrask's hasty gestures imploring him to lower his voice. "I may not be _better_ than any other alpha, but I'm certainly not _worse_ , you hear me?!"

Shocked, he shut his mouth again as soon as the words had been spoken, afraid that he had already revealed too much. Instinct forced him to silence whenever he said something that cut too close, was far too similar to what he was actually feeling. There was the constant danger of dropping too many hints, of letting something slip that would allow his listeners to guess his true identity.

Mentally he began dissecting his sentence, searching for anything that was abnormal.

He shook his head determinedly, once, twice, and forgot how to stop. Negation, denial.

"But Orsino is alright now, isn't he?", he asked, hoping against hope. "There was no lasting damage?"

"I don't know", the older knight offered. He was not kind enough to lie. "I haven't seen his injuries for myself, and official information is scarce. He hasn't left his chambers in days. Judging by the amount of secrecy I can only assume that it was bad, very bad."

Ser Thrask might have just as well taken a blunt training sword and clobbered him over the head with it. Garrett felt –

– he actually had no idea how he felt.

He missed the pleasant daze of the heat, when actions hadn't had consequences and Malcolm Hawke had been (mostly) dead, unable to fault him for anything.

"Meredith wanted to gloss this over, pretend she and Orsino had bonded as planned, but the rumor spread faster than she had anticipated", Thrask explained. "So she decided to make it official instead. They'll let you out soon, give you a new training schedule. The official story will be that this was all planned, that the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter saw something in you. Meredith will take over your basic training herself, but don't expect any favors from her. She argued to let you rot in the dungeons, since that was the only punishment she could inflict that wouldn't affect the First Enchanter as well. You'll get one chance to prove your worth. Make sure you don't waste it."

By now Garrett was thoroughly convinced his mind was making this conversation up.

It happened sometimes; ever since they had locked him in here he had had more conversations with his dead brother than they had ever had when Carver had still been alive. Other family members showed up as well, his sister, his parents, and once even a made-up grandfather he had never met, whispering to him in a fake Orlesian accent.

But this meeting had to be the craziest one yet.

_Make it official._

He knew what that meant. Familiar panic flickered back to life for an instant.

Everyone would know of his failure, his shame. They would make him declare it in front of hundreds of witnesses, and they would invite his mother so she would _see_.

"What happened is unfortunate, but it doesn't mean – "

Garrett was aware of the fact that the other knight kept talking, but the words did not register.

There was a sudden sense of clarity. It had taken him nearly a week in the dungeons, a week of blessed, blissful, _blighted_ ignorance; now the realization left him bereft.

Everything he had ruined, everything he had lost. Twenty-five years of truth, of certainty, and the two days that had washed all that away.

His mother, his sister, his _life._

There could be no forgiveness, not ever.

That scared, haunted man that had been his father, that utterly broken man.

Carver, who had never understood.

All their lives they had been running, just to end up at the Gallows once more.

His family was everything to Garrett. He would do anything to keep them safe. At least that was what he had believed, what he had always promised them, but when the time had come for actions rather than words he had _hesitated_ , had adapted to his new situation with surprising ease.

He should have been born a beta; then it would never have come to this.

He should have been an omega like his father.

He should have been a dog, a fish, a slug, anything at all, a tree, a plant. Anything but this.

By now he should have been used to his body failing him whenever his emotions got the better of him, but it still came as a surprise when his knees gave out.

The last thing he saw were his own fingers clawing at the ground hard enough for one of his fingernails to dislodge itself.

Then his vision went black, and Garrett screamed.

 

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"Don't move", the Knight-Commander ordered as she fastened the cloak to his shoulders. The silver ceremonial armor they had presented him with was lighter than any other he had ever worn, but impossible to put on all by himself. It didn't fit him all that well, either; it had been forged for someone smaller than him, someone with limbs both shorter and thinner. It pinched and chafed everywhere.

"Raise your arms."

Silently Garrett contemplated his appearance in the mirror. The armor was glorious – the problem was the person wearing it.

After they had released him that morning they had made him take a bath to wash the worst grime off his body, and given him some time to trim his beard. He had done the best he could, but nothing could conceal the dark circles beneath his eyes or that strange, haunted look that had settled on his features. He looked ridiculous, like a homeless man someone had dragged out of Darktown and dressed up as the metaphorical knight in shining armor.

"Part your legs."

Garrett stared straight ahead as his Knight-Commander knelt at his feet. Despite everything he had done, the man in the mirror was still easier to face than the woman who had taken his sister from him, and whose designated mate he had stolen in turn.

Her efficiency, her professionalism was more than a little intimidating. She acted as if there was nothing strange about the whole situation at all, as if it was perfectly normal for the Knight-Commander to assist him on this day.

Everything was happening too fast.

He needed more time to think, to make up his mind, to deal with everything he had gone through this past week; time that was preferably spent somewhere isolated, like Sundermount, or the Wounded Coast, and maybe, if he was really lucky, one of the qunari outlaws that were rumored to hide out there would bash his head in and save him the trouble.

"Your hands are shaking. When did you start taking your lyrium again?"

It was the first question the Knight-Commander had directed at him in months. Garrett was so shocked that he needed to think about this answer for a while.

"Yesterday. I'm fine. I'm just nervous, I guess."

He balled his hands into fists, trying to conceal the shaking, but somehow that only made it worse. Once again his body stubbornly refused to obey him. As of now, his condition was still manageable: His breathing was still normal, his legs still held firm – he had certainly been much worse lately.

But _nervous_ wasn't quite right. He was utterly _terrified._

He knew it was irrational; nothing truly meaningful was about to happen. It would be nothing more than a symbolic gesture, a public spectacle which would help the Order save face. Today he would have one of the most prominent roles, but ultimately the truly important events would not include him but the Knight-Commander: She was the one who would have to convince Kirkwall's nobility that it was still save to send their children to the Circle, convince the Order that she was still in control, convince the Divine's investigators that no extreme measures needed to be taken.

All Garrett had to do was to go out there into the Chantry's main hall, listen to the Grand Cleric's speech and effectively make First Enchanter Orsino his slave while half the City looked on.

"Tell me which vows you're planning to use", Meredith ordered, and Garrett told her. He was too tired to think about whether it was a good idea to tell her in advance, whether she might be able to find something objectionable in there.

"Mercy, Allegiance, Anguish, Grief, Family. In that order."

The Knight-Commander accepted his choice with a curt nod.

"Good. I see you recognize the significance of this day. Now, before we begin..."

Meredith stood up to face him and Garrett straightened as best as he could, ready to receive his final orders for the day.

The Knight-Commander fixed him with an inquisitive stare, and Garrett wondered what she saw in him right now.

"First Enchanter Orsino can be... a difficult man to work with", Meredith began, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I assume those very same qualities will make him a difficult man to be bonded to. I am the first to admit that we don't always see eye to eye. But despite our differences I will not see him come to harm. Do you understand?"

"Of course", Hawke replied without hesitation. Those intense blue eyes, even brighter than Garrett's own, stared right at him, cold and unforgiving, and it was difficult to hold Meredith's gaze.

She would have treated Orsino better, he was sure of it. There was a reason why his mating had disturbed the templars to a point that they had him thrown into the dungeon for his transgression. The _templars,_ the very same templars who were nothing but a bunch of rapists and monsters, according to his father.

And yet the Gallows had never seen a mating that had been bloodier than Garrett's own.

"You haven't been a knight for long, so I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you couldn't help yourself. But from now on you _will_ take his age into consideration when you share his bed."

Garrett's eyes widened in horror. "I'm not planning to –", he tried to interject, but was quickly silenced by a dismissive gesture.

"I cannot stop you from taking your pleasure from him, but you _will_ respect his wishes. Every complaint that reaches my ears will result in severe consequences. Do you understand?"

Garrett nodded, his mouth too dry to offer any form of vocal agreement.

The mere thought of touching Orsino again was almost too much to bear. He remembered the elf's scars, the spider web of pale, dead skin on his back, and new bloody red stripes. He remembered what he himself had been capable of. He remembered _everything_.

"In the eyes of the Chantry he belongs to you now", Meredith continued, "but I will not tolerate excessive demands. Did I make myself clear?"

Garrett nodded once more, a sharp tug of his head.

Not for the first time he wondered what kind of relationship the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter had, and whether there was a more personal reason for her obvious protectiveness.

Their respective duties put Meredith and Orsino at cross-purposes, but that might not have stopped them from developing mutual respect for each other – or maybe something more. He could only imagine what it would be like to spend years working together with someone you might or might not end up bonding with; surely they had both considered it, had thought about what it would be like.

"You wanted him to be yours, didn't you?"

He had intended that to sound neutral, but it came out all wrong: Subconsciously he squared his shoulders, straightened his back to look tall and imposing as his voice dropped into a low growl. It was something between a challenge and a threat, primal instincts urging him to defend what was _his_ , to not take any more orders from an alpha whose inadequacy he had already proven.

It only lasted for an instant, then he was back in control.

The Knight-Commander's eyes narrowed in warning, but before she had a chance to reprimand him Garrett retreated.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to say... I don't know what I wanted to say. I apologize."

Meredith simply looked at him.

"First Enchanter Orsino is a capable colleague I respect." She spoke slowly and loudly, as if Garrett was a particularly thick child. "Naturally, I would have preferred to see him paired with someone who was prepared to shoulder the responsibility. You, on the other hand, have proven to be disinclined to follow even the simplest orders, attacked and nearly killed one of your comrades, and shown an utter lack of restraint in your mating. So, yes", she finished. "I believe he would have been better off if he had bonded with me."

Somehow Garrett managed to keep his face expressionless.

"We have wasted enough time. Are you ready?", Meredith asked all of a sudden, and walked demonstratively over to the door while looking over her shoulder at him. The change came so abrupt that Garrett had to wonder whether this topic made her uncomfortable.

Garrett was nowhere near ready, but he nodded anyway. There was no other option.

"Follow me, then."

With Meredith leading the way they left the small antechamber and stepped out into the brightly-lit, lavishly decorated Chantry.

Garrett had known that bonding ceremonies were public affairs – everyone who wanted to watch was welcome, as long as there was still space available – but the sight that greeted him was still unexpected: He saw templars, mages, Chantry sisters, nobles, merchants, dockworkers, fishermen, even a handful of elves from the Alienage. It truly was as if the whole city had come to gawk at him: Rich and poor mingled, their differences forgotten, united by their desire to see the horrible monster that had taken an omega against his will. Soft music rose to a loud crescendo as they crossed the hall, signaling the begin of the ceremony.

And there, high up on the banister, a lone woman –

Garrett quickly turned his head to the ground before his mother's eyes caught his.

He had gone by her house this morning immediately after he had been released, just to confirm that she was alright. After watching the building for a while to determine it was indeed her shadow he saw moving behind the curtains, he had left before she had noticed his presence. He wasn't ready to face her yet, wasn't sure he ever would be.

He hadn't spoken to Bethany, either. He avoided them both, avoided everyone whose opinion mattered to him in any way. He couldn't deal with this now, wasn't sure what reaction he dreaded more: Accusation or forgiveness, pity or understanding.

Kirkwall's Chantry wasn't that big, but it seemed to take forever to reach the top of the stairs where the Grand Cleric and his mate were already waiting for him. Every step that brought him closer to Orsino filled him with apprehension – a feeling that was mirrored through the bond.

He still hadn't grown used to a stranger's feelings entering his mind every once in a while. He couldn't control it, couldn't read Orsino the way the other knights claimed he was supposed to: The elf's feelings should reveal themselves to him without much effort on his part, but whereas Garrett had been told it should be like staring into a crystal-clear lake, he felt as if he was trudging through a muddy swamp instead.

Orsino's emotions were too different from his own. Garrett knew only extremes: When he was afraid his whole body was trembling, when he was afraid he started sweating, when he was aroused he had an erection. Every emotion was equally intense. There was no such thing as strong or weak feelings – he either felt something or he didn't. There was nothing in between.

The First Enchanter's head didn't seem to work the same way. His usual state of mind appeared to be one of mild irritation, covered by layers and layers of other feelings. Garrett only caught the strongest ones, the ones he recognized, the ones he could relate to. Everything else was completely lost on him, slipped through his fingers like water when he tried to grasp it.

Each step he took towards Orsino made it worse: He felt like he was closing in on unfamiliar, treacherous territory where every step could be his last. Garrett couldn't even tell whether the elf's feelings about their current situation were mostly positive or negative in nature; they were simply _there_ , shifted subtly whenever Garrett tried to focus on one in particular.

His head was starting to hurt, and he tried to stop analyzing the mage, to stop the onslaught of emotion, but he hadn't yet learned how to do _that_ , either: It would take months of training, and today his mind was swimming, floating, falling, too unfocused to shield itself.

First Enchanter Orsino dropped to his knees as Meredith and Garrett approached. The movement was fluid, graceful – but Garrett caught the slight wince as he sank to the ground. He looked even paler than usual in the light blue robes he was wearing, but other than that he seemed fine. It wasn't surprising: It had been more than a week, and the Gallows' spirit healers were certainly capable.

Still Garrett couldn't help but think about the wounds he had inflicted, dark bruises and bright red blood, staining the elf's robes and Garrett's hands.

Everything came crashing down on him, too much, too soon, emotions that negated each other and that were only partly his.

Someone had looked forward to this.

He staggered, stumbled. Only the Knight-Commander's hand around his forearm kept him upright.

The crowd murmured. Everyone's eyes were on him. Meredith dragged him forward like the owner of the Hanged Man would drag a coinless customer out onto the street.

The First Enchanter looked... strange, different somehow, but Garrett couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was merely the fact that his new robes exposed more skin: His neck was uncovered all the way down to his collarbone. From up close Hawke could see the marks he had left there: Two spots where he had sucked on the skin hard enough to leave bright red bruises to prove his ownership. They had started to fade but were still clearly visible, and some part of him was strangely pleased to see they had lasted until a time had come when he was able to put something more permanent on his mate.

He hardly realized what he was doing, hardly realized that he failed to stop at a respectable distance like he was supposed to, that he kept walking even after the Knight-Commander had let go of him.

He barely registered that the feeling of soft grey hair between his fingers was more than a memory.

He remembered gripping and pulling at the strands, using it as leverage; now he was careful, gentle, caressed the elf's head as if there were lovers rather than – whatever it was they were now.

The First Enchanter allowed the touch at first. Garrett felt a surge of – what? Relief? Surprise? Revulsion? Horror? He wasn't sure, couldn't tell the difference.

By accident his hand brushed something that wasn't hair and Orsino's head jerked away, throwing Garrett into an abyss of fear and agony.

The wound had healed, but the mark remained on body and mind, and Garrett finally realized what was different about the First Enchanter's appearance. His thoughts stopped, simply _stopped,_ and he forgot how to breathe.

Orsino's right ear was shorter than his left.

It gave him a strangely lopsided, asymmetric appearance. It was more than just the tip that was gone, he was missing almost an entire inch; enough that even Garrett with his human sensibilities would call it a disfigurement, but an elf like the First Enchanter would probably feel even more strongly about it. It was the perfect choice for a mark – both demeaning and easily noticeable – and Garrett hated himself for it.

He hadn't just injured his mate. He had practically _maimed_ him.

Hawke pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. The Knight-Commander's fingers on his arm were the only thing that kept him from turning tail and running.

That was his first instinct: Not to apologize and throw himself at Orsino's mercy, but to hide, to flee into isolation, the way he had always done when he was younger and couldn't handle being around his family anymore.

Orsino's eyes were cold, pale emeralds, entirely unreadable.

Grand Cleric Elthina spoke about trust and acceptance, respect and loyalty, support and understanding. Love came at the very end, almost as an afterthought, a welcome possibility but not a requirement, entirely optional.

Meredith's fingers never left Garrett's arm, keeping him from running, or breaking down, or touching Orsino, or from acting on whatever impulse would surface next.

Eventually it was time to offer their vows. Orsino needed to go first: It was the omega's role to offer himself to his alpha, to beg forgiveness and understanding for his curse. Whereas Garrett had needed to decide on five vows out of the Chantry's extensive catalogue on the subject, Orsino probably hadn't needed to think about what he was going to say. There was only one vow for mages, only one thing an omega was expected to promise.

The Vow of Absolute Obedience included some loopholes for a First Enchanter, and Orsino made use of them all: He made it clear that Garrett was not to interfere with Circle business outside of his duties, that he would not follow demeaning orders or ones that would compromise his position, that his first duty was to his people and not to Hawke. But he was still required to promise everything else: His body if Garrett desired it, and his understanding if he didn't; his assistance if Garrett required it, and his own intention to rely on Garrett as little as possible, to keep his problems to himself.

He promised to offer everything he had, and demanded nothing in return.

Orsino kept kneeling while he finished his vow, and Hawke vaguely realized that his head was at the same level as his groin. It would be so easy to undo his belt and stuff his cock into his mouth, and deeper, to ruin his throat in front of hundreds of witnesses. A century ago that would have been an official part of the ceremony, before the Chantry had decided this particular custom was somewhat demeaning.

As if the bond could ever be anything else.

Garrett had never been so grateful that his father was dead, and didn't have to see him right now.

The Chantry was silent for half a minute, the First Enchanter lowered his head, and Garrett eventually noticed it was his turn to continue.

He had much more freedom with his vows than Orsino – but they hadn't given him enough time to really think this through, to decide which vows he was likely to keep and which ones weren't worth taking at all.

His father's teachings hadn't been much help, and so he had turned to the only source of assistance he had left.

The other knights had explained to him which vows were appropriate and which weren't. It wouldn't be like a wedding, where the couple about to be married promised each other a life of love and support.

As a templar, Garrett was expected to promise death.

"Mine is the Sword of Mercy", he pledged, reciting his first vow from memory. "May it bring salvation should you ever succumb to your curse."

With that he vowed to be the one to end Orsino's life should he ever fall victim to a demon. As a templar that would have been Garrett's duty anyway, no matter which mage succumbed to the allure of blood magic; but the audience would see this promise as proof of his devotion and bravery: Taking on a First Enchanter abomination all by himself was no easy task, and he would be trained relentlessly for this.

It might be a vow of suicide.

Next to him Meredith nodded approvingly as he finished. He waited a second before continuing. All templar vows began with the same phrase.

"Mine is the Sword of Mercy", he began anew, and was struck by how damn silent the Chantry was, how the walls reflected his voice.

"May it bring justice to the sinner and retribution to the traitor, but never annulment to the innocent."

The Vow of Allegiance.

The crowd started murmuring at that declaration, and the Knight-Commander nodded again. She might not approve of his decision, but it was Garrett's prerogative to choose where to turn his sword should Kirkwall's Circle fall.

The Right of Annulment was an old privilege the Order held on to, despite the fact that it hadn't been used in decades. It had become mostly meaningless after the custom of allowing First Enchanter and Knight-Commander to bond had been introduced: After all, what kind of Knight-Commander would choose to raze their own Circle to the ground, if ordering their mate's death would be tantamount to ending their own life? If Meredith had been in Garrett's place today this would have been the first vow she would have spoken, the first vow any Knight-Commander would have used.

Garrett couldn't offer that kind of reassurance, couldn't promise that it would never come to Annulment. It was not his decision to make. So he had chosen the amended version, the one any templar could give to any mage. It wasn't much, probably wouldn't make a difference if it really came that far, but that didn't matter.

He offered Orsino his sword.

He vowed to disobey, to turn his back on the Order, on his Commander, on his comrades, and to fight for the mages instead if the two groups ever turned on each other.

The noise from the crowd swelled, then quickly died out again. The First Enchanter's emotions flared briefly, but before Garrett could start analyzing them the elf suppressed them once more. His head was still lowered, even though Hawke felt like he needed to look into his eyes right now.

Those eyes.

"Mine is the Sword of Mercy. May it defend you in the darkness, and slay the terrors of the night."

The Vow of Anguish, which most templars claimed was the most difficult one to keep.

With the distribution of lyrium had come the absence of magebane; Garrett and Orsino would share their first Fade dream tonight.

He wondered what he would see, what shape his fears and desires would take. Those last two weeks had been hellish; he was almost certain his mind would end up taking him to the Harrowing Chamber or the dungeons again, but it made Garrett uneasy for an entirely different reason.

Orsino would be privy to his darkest secrets, to his _family's_ secrets, whether he wanted to or not.

"Mine is the Sword of Mercy", he continued, and attempted to clear his head once more. "May it..."

He trailed off, and was _relieved_.

It felt good, felt strangely invigorating to know that he was still terrified of making this particular promise.

"May it put an end to my suffering should I ever fail in my duties. May it strike me down should you ever perish."

The Vow of Grief, the promise to take his own life the instant Orsino died. It would come as a relief, he knew: They would train him to be able to deal with the loss, the feeling of his mate's life ending, the feeling of d _eath_ being transmitted through the bond – they would try, anyway.

It would still shatter him.

He wondered exactly how old Orsino was, how many years he had left – not counting the additional dangers of possible demonic possession or the very real risk of slipping on one of the Gallows' numerous stairways and breaking his neck.

Once again there was a longer pause as Garrett contemplated the scenario of Orsino choking on a piece of meat during supper, and his own subsequent demise by falling into his sword right there in the Great Hall.

It struck him suddenly.

There was so much his father hadn't prepared him for. There were so many things he hadn't considered, so many possibilities. He had only ever seen the ethical issues, the humiliation, the degradation, the unavoidable rape. The templars recognized that the bond could very well mean their death, that it would require sacrifices. He felt foolish all of a sudden, and utterly ignorant.

Garrett needed a moment to get his bearings before he was able to continue.

There was no final, fifth templar vow he could use to finish. The Vow of Tranquility did not apply in their situation (a First Enchanter would never, under any circumstances, be subjected to this Rite) and since Garrett himself was no Knight-Commander he could not promise him a productive partnership. He had to promise something personal after all, something that transcended his normal duties as a templar.

He had agonized over this for hours, trying to decide what he could promise and what he couldn't, what kind of responsibilities he could accept without betraying the people that already relied on his support.

Eventually he had realized that he had to take responsibility, that no half-measures were acceptable.

His final vow was short, simple and to the point. It probably made no sense without the Vows of Love and Fidelity preceding it, but those were things he couldn't promise, not when he dreaded touching the elf. It might count as a minor vow, but to him it was possibly the most important.

He promised that Orsino would be just as important to him as his parents and his siblings. He promised to tear himself apart to keep him safe.

"I vow to accept you as part of my family, from this day until the day I die."

Orsino didn't react. The crowd was silent, as well.

They didn't understand the significance of his words, that his family was e _verything_ to him, that he would _die_ for them. He hadn't expected anything else, but it still irritated him; he was prepared to make amends, to make this right again, and no one even realized it.

His mother might, but somehow that thought only made him even more uncomfortable.

And now the words were out, and he could no longer take them back.

Garrett turned his head and locked eyes with Knight-Captain Cullen to signal he was finished with this particular part of the ceremony. The man only hesitated for a second before stepping forward, holding out a shining piece of metal.

Garrett had seen collars before. Nearly every street vendor in Lowtown sold them to kinky betas and alphas alike, little velvet bands with delicate silver bells, or dark leather ones complete with a sturdy leash. The magisters of Tevinter wore expensive necklaces, pieces of art rather than mere jewelry; a qunari saarebas was completely covered in chains held by their arvaarad, dogs to their owners.

The collar the Knight-Captain offered to him was much heavier than he had expected; Garrett nearly dropped it in surprise. The metal was nearly as thick as his thumb, heavier than one of his gauntlets. He wasn't sure whether it was simple gilded iron or solid gold or something else entirely – at first sight it looked unremarkable, devoid of any unnecessary decorations, until he spotted the inscription on its back. The metal was rough where the previously engraved name had been filed off and exchanged with another one, the fake name Garrett would now be forced to keep for the rest of his life. Just above it there was a small ring where a leash could be attached – a leash that would be lying in the First Enchanter's chambers when they returned, to be used in a more private setting.

Garrett swallowed hard, and tried to keep his mind empty.

He took a step forward, holding the collar to Orsino's slim neck while brushing his hair aside with the other. He had to get this right at his first try; the collar had not been forged with the intention of ever being removed, and would not open again that easily.

The only way to get it off would be to destroy it.

Even without the bond Garrett would have seen Orsino's apprehension. He could feel his pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, noticed every hard swallow, and tried to think reassuring thoughts, hoping he was able to transmit them to the mage somehow. Once again he was struck by the size difference between them – the First Enchanter's neck was thin enough that Garrett could probably strangle him one-handed. The collar was far too bulky for such a slender creature, even though it had been made especially for him.

There was a flare of panic as the collar closed around his neck, and Garrett needed to remind himself that it had to be right size, that Orsino's measurements had been taken, that the metal was _supposed_ to cut into his skin, that it wouldn't actually impede his breathing.

He would feel it, though.

Every breath he took, every swallow would remind him that someone _owned_ him now.

The sight of the First Enchanter kneeling on the floor, his new golden collar gleaming in the light of the setting sun was – _gorgeous, disgusting, captivating, horrible._

There was a sudden pang of arousal that _definitely (probably)_ did not belong to him. But the only alternative was that the feeling came from Orsino, and that didn't sound right, either – it had to be Garrett's mind that was this screwed up, after all, there was no other explanation. The mage looked just so _perfect_ like this – or he would have, in another world, another life, where he did this willingly for someone he loved and trusted. The sight was arousing, certainly, but the wrongness of it all made Garrett sick to his stomach.

He had to look away.

He had wanted this for years, but not like this, never like this.

According to the rules of the ceremony Garrett offered him his hand without meeting his eyes – and the First Enchanter didn't hesitate before taking it.

The crowd erupted into polite applause as Orsino rose to his feet, and the Grand Cleric proceeded to bless their union. Garrett focused on her for the rest of the ceremony, unable to look at his mate and equally unable to face the crowd for fear of seeing his mother there.

When the ceremony was finally over he all but fled from the Chantry.

 

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_Dear Mother._

Four hours had passed and that was as far as he had gotten. He had written three pages worth of ink blots and crossed-out lines, and the standardized greeting was the only thing he had accomplished.

Night had fallen, and he could hardly see his scribbles in the feeble candle light, but he couldn't stop, couldn't put this away until he had completed his letter.

It might have been easier if he had actually known what he was supposed to write.

He needed to come up with a new plan to get his sister out of the Circle and reunite his family, one that didn't rely on Ser Thrask and somehow included the First Enchanter – a good plan, a cunning plan, one that wouldn't be ruined by any unexpected occurrences.

There was simply no way.

He had a few options, but those weren't options at all. He could stick to his original idea and escape with just his sister – perhaps he might even last a few weeks before the bond would drive him right back to the Gallows, half-mad from his desire to see his mate. He could just as well sent Bethany and Mother away on their own and stay behind – but where would they go, and would they be safe without him? He could try and free both Orsino and his sister, assuming Orsino would even want to leave – but First Enchanters had multiple phylacteries, and he had no idea where Orsino's were hidden. Ser Thrask had been his only key to the storage room, and the older knight had cut all ties to him.

There was no solution, no option that didn't look like it was madness.

Adding First Enchanter Orsino to the picture turned an already difficult task into an impossible one.

For the first time in his life he had no idea what needed to be done to keep his family safe, and it was utterly terrifying.

Garrett flinched as the door behind him opened all of a sudden, but didn't turn around to face the man that entered. He shouldn't have expected a knock – this had been _his_ room, after all, before it had become _theirs_ , and the man had a right to be here.

"I believe I sent a messenger up here to bring you to my office once you finished moving all your possessions. Did it take you that long?", Orsino asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry", Garrett said, even though the evidence around him suggested otherwise.

Ever since he had been forced to leave the first village he and his family had called home, he hadn't quite seen the point of acquiring a great number of personal items. It had taken him merely ten minutes to gather all his things from the room he used to share with Keran and the others and carry them up to the First Enchanter's chambers.

Thankfully the other recruits hadn't been around when he had moved out – they would have questions, everyone had questions, and he didn't want to answer them anytime soon.

Afterwards he had just sat there and stared at a letter he was never going to finish.

It hadn't been a complete waste of his time, however. It had allowed him to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself for this inevitable confrontation. He was calm, his mind more focused than it had been in days. He would get through this.

At least that was what he had believed.

Now that the First Enchanter was actually _here_ , actually talking to him Garrett's anxiety returned in full force. He didn't know how to treat the mage.

They had cleared the air somewhat – as soon as Garrett had been released from the dungeons he had run to Orsino and begged his forgiveness. He had apologized profusely, for everything he had done, for every single touch, staring at the floor the whole time, unable to look Orsino in the eye. He had sworn it would never happen again, that he would never lay hands on the mage until he died.

Orsino had sat unmoving in his chair behind his desk, and told him not to worry about it.

"Don't apologize. There was nothing urgent I needed to talk to you about. I just thought you might have some questions."

"About what?", he asked over his shoulder, still steadily staring at the parchment in front of him, trying to ignore the sounds of someone moving behind him. For one mad second he thought he heard the rustling of clothes – but that couldn't be right.

"I don't know. A lot has happened during these last few days, and I worried it might have been... confusing for you."

That was an interesting euphemism to use: C _onfusing_. After the Harrowing Chamber and the dungeons, the heat and lyrium withdrawal Garrett felt like today was the first day in a long while that his thoughts actually made sense. Now he was able to trust his own mind again – but so much had happened in the meantime, so many things he was only vaguely aware of.

He had a lot of questions.

He wanted to know just what consequences his actions had had, just how severe Orsino's wounds had been, what was expected of him now, how they were supposed to treat each other from now on.

He wanted to know why the First Enchanter had lied to him in the Harrowing Chamber.

Just like everyone else, he wanted to know why it had come to this.

Over and over he had replayed that conversation in his mind, picking the story apart and looking for clues hinting at the truth the elf had tried to conceal.

In the end the only interpretation that sounded even slightly probable had come from an entirely unexpected source.

Ser Karras, the old knight whose face Garrett had tried to rearrange, had been the only one who had stepped up in his defense, the only one who stubbornly refused to believe that the incident in the Harrowing Chamber was Hawke's fault. He insisted Orsino had come to them that day, had tried to entice them, to seduce them, that it had all been part of some ploy the First Enchanter had devised.

After thinking it through Garrett had to admit the theory wasn't quite as far-fetched as it sounded. Now, in hindsight, it actually made a whole lot of sense.

As Thrask had explained, the incident had thrown the Circle into chaos. Meredith had had her hands full trying to keep her own people in line, but Orsino had been in no condition to do the same. They hadn't rebelled, it hadn't gone that far – but only because Grand Cleric Elthina had convinced the Knight-Commander to agree to some of the mages' demands.

She had publically declared the Rite of Bonding would not be used in the foreseeable future, at least not for the next few years.

Perhaps if the First Enchanter had anticipated that reaction. If he had been aiming for something similar – would he be the kind of man who would sacrifice himself just to better his people's situation?

It was possible, Garrett supposed. Probable, even.

But it wasn't as if he would ever confront Orsino with that theory.

It would sound as if he was accusing the mage, as if _Garrett_ was the victim here, and nothing could be further from the truth.

The very thought made him uncomfortable. Orsino had been raped, abused – and Garrett, the very man who had mistreated him, had the gall to entertain the thought that the mage was at fault; it was preposterous, an additional cruelty that would make his own crime even more horrendous.

No, Karras had no idea what he was talking about. He had to be mistaken. Garrett had to be the monster; that was the only interpretation that made sense.

"No, no questions", he said simply, and stabbed the parchment in front of him again.

"I see."

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like –

No. Surely he was imagining that.

The rustling of thin sheets, the creaking of a bed...

No, he was not going to picture this.

He should probably leave. Technically this was his room as well, at least until he managed to convince the Knight-Captain that this arrangement was entirely inappropriate. He could spend the night at some tavern, or the Chantry if all else failed. Maybe if he left right now he could still –

"Are you coming to bed?"

Orsino's voice was calm, but during the pause that had preceded his words Garrett had felt his anxiety – or something he thought he recognized as such, anyway.

The mage might be trying to act like this didn't affect him much, but a bonded couple would be unable to keep any secrets from each other – or at least they wouldn't once Hawke learned to read him correctly.

"Yes. Soon. I just... need to finish this first."

He wondered if just sitting there for the rest of the night was an option. Surely Orsino would fall asleep at some point, and Garrett could use that opportunity to leave quietly. Sleeping here was impossible, would require him to share a bed with Orsino, and Garrett didn't trust himself enough for that.

Despite this crippling guilt he felt, despite his father's lessons, despite everything he had ever believed – he still wanted this mage.

It was a different want, a new kind of want. Before they had bonded Hawke had fantasized about the elf, yes, but that had been something else, hadn't been about Orsino as a person. He could have substituted the mage with any other omega, and the fantasy would have probably been just as satisfying. Now, though –

"Garrett."

Upon hearing his name he turned around to look at Orsino.

He hadn't been aware that the mage even knew it.

The First Enchanter was lying on his side, watching him curiously. A naked shoulder peeked out from beneath the covers, and Garrett's eyes were instinctively drawn to the skin that was on display. Before long, however, his gaze settled on the thick collar around the mage's neck; he remembered how Orsino had touched it uncomfortably while walking through Hightown. Now the skin around the edges was red, irritated by Orsino's constant scratching.

"Come to bed."

It wasn't an official part of the ceremony; it was expected, of course, but it wasn't as if anyone would actually ask them whether they had spent the night together. Surely there were many couples that didn't share a bed on their wedding night. Making love would serve to strengthen their bond, but no one could force them to do it if they didn't want to. And even though Garrett was fairly sure that he _did_ want it – he could admit that now, had learned that all his thoughts, intents and purposes were meaningless, since his body could still act differently – he was not going to act on this desire. He was certain of it.

He had no idea how it happened, but before long he stood next to the bed, and watched, mesmerized, as his mate slowly rolled over onto his back. Seeing long legs move under the covers made him remember how those very same legs had felt wrapped around his waist, how they had drawn him closer and that glorious feeling of being inside his mate...

_The only thing that's even better than bonding with an omega is fucking an omega you've_ already _bonded with._

Someone had told him that once, but he wasn't sure who.

Definitely not his father.

As he drew close, Orsino pulled the covers away, and Garrett sucked in a sharp breath.

There was not a scrap of clothing on the mage's body. Hawke couldn't stop himself – his eyes flicked over the elf's skin, greedily, furtively, as if he was doing something forbidden.

The sight invoked pity rather than desire. The First Enchanter was painfully thin, just skin and bones, and the two days of forced starvation in the Harrowing Chamber probably hadn't helped matters. Garrett couldn't have said whether he had lost weight since then; he hadn't been paying attention during the heat, hadn't been interested in the parts of Orsino's body that he hadn't been actively using. He was relieved to see that most of the wounds he had inflicted hadn't scarred – clearly a result of the healers' diligent care – but he could still see the imprint of his fingers on the mage's hips. The bruises there were healing, were already greenish-brown rather than blue or purple, but still clearly visible.

His knees, on the other hand, had healed rather nicely. Garrett remembered them as bloody nubs, torn open as a result of kneeling on the floor of the Harrowing Chamber for hours. The skin there looked tender, but was devoid of any scabs.

It had only been a week, and already most visible marks of their mating had disappeared.

_Good._

That was good.

The disappointment he felt was irrational and demeaning.

As he stared, the First Enchanter parted his legs slowly, almost invitingly, put his knees up so Garrett had a clear view of what was between his legs. His member was soft, and Hawke knew he was supposed to feel bad for how quickly his eyes slipped lower, to see what was beneath.

He just couldn't tear his gaze away. The position reminded Garrett of the first time he had seen Orsino like this, and the memory filled him with dread. But down there the elf looked just like back then, soft and tight and welcoming.

And no longer red and raw and bleeding _._

Maker, the things he had done to this man.

On the second day of their coupling when their wits had started to return Garrett had been impossibly gentle – but the elf had still thrashed and screamed in his arms, begging him to _just make it stop._ The sight of this mage choking on his sobs as Garrett entered him over and over again would haunt him for the rest of his life.

What he had done was unforgivable. Under no circumstances would he repeat his actions. There was just no way.

He spoke without thinking, or maybe after too much thinking, he wasn't sure.

"First Enchanter, _no._ "

Garrett would have laughed if it had been funny: He sounded like a skittish maiden on her wedding night, and it struck him again how everything about this was wrong, how everything he had ever longed for had been twisted into something unrecognizable. It _was_ their wedding night, after all, but it shouldn't be like this – it should be nice and good and _not absolutely terrifying._

There was a sudden sense of incompatibility.

For some reason he felt... Vulnerable. Exposed. There was a strange, irrational compulsion to cover himself.

By the time he realized that the feeling did not belong to him his lyrium-infused blood sang as a spell was being cast, and a strong gust of wind knocked the candles from the table, extinguishing them in the process. His letter went flying, one page hitting the back of his head, and the inkwell came down with a loud crash. He didn't flinch, didn't even turn around – he had felt the signs, after all, had known Orsino would react like this. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

Garrett's eyes would need some time to adjust to the dark; as it was, he heard rather than saw Orsino shift on the bed.

"If this is easier for you when you don't have to see me..."

The words were difficult to understand; the mage spoke them through gritted teeth, like it pained him to say it.

He had never known the First Enchanter to leave his sentences unfinished like that – but then again, he didn't _know_ Orsino at all. His mind was in turmoil, but perhaps it wasn't not even _his_ mind; how was he supposed to know when there was no line separating them anymore?

It was strange. Their emotions bled into each other, but they didn't _understand_ each other. Garrett thought he had already made himself clear, had explained that this was consideration rather than rejection, but Orsino obviously hadn't gotten his meaning. The elf's disappointment bordered on indignation, and Garrett knew he needed to say something.

"No, no, it's not that. You're..."

He didn't have the words to describe just _what_ First Enchanter Orsino was, and the silence that followed made his words sound worse than any insult he could have possibly added.

Without seeing or hearing anything, the bond was his only guidance, and that only served to confuse him further.

Orsino's feelings were incomprehensible, too strange, too foreign to understand. Driven by the urge to reassure he reached out to touch the elf, but in the end he didn't go through with it; his hand hovered uselessly in the air, while Garrett tried to figure out just where he was going with this.

Touching Orsino would send the wrong signal.

"I told you I wouldn't do this again", he explained, and wondered why the First Enchanter couldn't understand that.

"You did", the mage acknowledged. His voice was louder, steadier than earlier.

"But this is not like last time. We are both here of our own free will. I'm not offering myself to you because I feel like I have an obligation to do so."

It all sounded very sensible and rational as Orsino said it, but it _wasn't_. Doggedly Garrett shook his head, remembering too late that the elf couldn't see the gesture in the darkness.

Back in the Harrowing Chamber he had had – _no choice_ wasn't quite true, but he had had an _excuse._ Once the heat had started, he couldn't possibly have resisted. But what would be his excuse this time?

Orsino's consent was insufficient, couldn't be taken at face value. The First Enchanter was a Circle mage, was the head of Kirkwall's Circle mages, was part of the system, had been told his entire life that this was how it should be. The omega was practically his slave now; Orsino simply _couldn't_ consent to this, not unless they were equals, and that would never happen in a partnership between an alpha and an omega. It would just be another rape, no less despicable than what he had already done to this man.

Even if Orsino begged him for it, he wouldn't do it.

He couldn't spend the night here after all.

His exit was nowhere near as smooth and quick as he had hoped it would be; he was in an unfamiliar room and unable to see properly, and just because he vaguely remembered where the door was did not mean he could find it.

He stumbled around blindly, walked into a bedpost as he tried to round a corner too quickly, and then felt his way along the walls. Eventually the rough stone ended and continued on as smooth wood. It felt like it took hours for him to find the door's handle, but then he was outside, standing in a still brightly light hallway. Finally he was able to breathe easier again.

He continued down the stairs, and as he left the Circle he noted that his mate had not once spoken up to stop him.

 

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Two weeks later First Enchanter Orsino sat in his office and tapped a gloved finger against his desk impatiently as he waited for his appointment to enter. He could practically _feel_ the boy lingering just on the other side of the door, contemplating whether he should knock, his mind the unfocused mess it always turned into when no one gave him a specified task to perform. The boy was good enough at following orders, but appeared to be incapable of making decisions for himself – the same qualities that had made him a good recruit made him a horrible templar.

Eventually Orsino grew tired of waiting.

"Enter", he said loudly, and leaned back in his chair as Garrett Sinclair came in and closed the door behind himself.

The boy – for that was what he was, no matter how thick his beard or how freakishly tall he was – looked more tired than the last time he had seen him. Orsino knew the former recruit hardly slept at night; he struggled with his Fade dreams, was being chased by a particularly crafty pride demon that showed him nightmares of inadequacy and failure. The mage did what he could to shield him from the worst of it – but he doubted it helped the boy's already fragile state of mind to watch Orsino slay the shade of his dead brother every night.

Garrett was mentally unstable, and even though it was technically his job to do something about that, Orsino still wasn't sure how to handle him. The former recruit avoided him whenever he could, and wherever Garrett spent his nights, it was not in their shared room. They mostly saw each other in passing, as their respective duties kept them from having to interact with each other. The boy was polite but uncomfortable when they met, fleeing as soon as a chance presented itself.

They were friendly but distant around each other, and most of their conversations consisted solely of "good morning"'s and "how are you"'s.

They hadn't spoken about the ceremony, the night that followed, or the time they had spent in the Harrowing Chamber.

The First Enchanter vaguely wondered whether they would be able to keep that up in the following months, when the consequences of their actions would become visible.

The confirmation had come yesterday. It had been almost funny to watch the spirit healers squirm uncomfortably, trying to come up with a polite, euphemistic phrase to inform the First Enchanter of the fact that the Rite had been successful – in every sense of the word.

The Rite of Breeding, he had called it derisively when he had been younger, and the chance that he would one day be subjected to it practically nonexistent, laughing at the omegas who were either foolish or careless enough to get caught by alphas during their heat. The irony of his current predicament was not lost on him.

The boy had to know, had to at least be able to guess. It was the heat's main purpose, after all, an _omega_ 's main purpose. Even though the boy came from some Fereldan backwater village, he should have learned enough about biology to know that it was not only possible, but nigh inevitable for a male alpha to impregnate a male omega during a shared heat.

It was something they would need to talk about at some point. The boy deserved to know what fate awaited his child, what options they had.

Some part of Orsino still hoped the problem would end up solving itself. Considering his age, a miscarriage was the most likely outcome, and the least complicated one.

The healers had explained the risks involved if he managed to carry it to term. They had acted as if he had never seen a half-breed – mostly human in appearance with a few elven characteristics, but broad, _big_ , even as newborns – as if he hadn't heard the stories about elves dying during childbirth.

As if he had any choice in the matter.

The Gallow's healers knew how it worked in theory, but lacked any practical experience. They knew they would either need to cut him open or break half the bones in his body to make it possible, and the less painful alternative was also the more dangerous one. His body might not be able to handle the strain.

He touched his belly uncomfortably and gestured at the chair across from him.

His eyes only briefly travelled over the boy's body, and hardly lingered on his crotch at all.

It had been nearly four weeks since he had been touched, and his cravings were still manageable. He guessed he still had a few more weeks before the bond would send him chasing after his mate despite the boy's obvious reluctance to lay with him.

The fact that he had these cravings in the first place had not been unexpected, but their intensity surprised him. He did not want to be held down, to be used, to be taken; he feared it, dreaded it, could not understand how that could ever be pleasurable (he might have been _curious_ once, had wondered what it would feel like. But now that curiosity was thoroughly sated, and he saw no reason to experience that torture again).

And yet his body would soon _ache_ for it, and he would need it like he needed air to breathe. It would be impossible to look at the boy without his thoughts straying, without considering the possibilities.

That was what he had heard, at least. Maybe, if he was extremely lucky, everyone who had ever spoken to him about it was merely exaggerating. Maybe it really wouldn't be all that bad.

Right. As if he would ever be that lucky.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to clear his head.

"Well then, Garrett. Do you know why the Knight-Commander sent you to me?"

He had to resist the urge to rub his stiff neck. He had developed the painful habit of turning his head slightly to the side whenever he spoke to someone to hide his damaged ear from view. By now the motion _hurt_ , but had the convenient side effect of drawing his attention to the subconscious gesture, reminding him to face his visitors properly. He had nothing to hide.

Of course, _that_ came with the inconvenient side effect of people _staring_ at it, and the boy was no exception. He agonized over it, that much was clear – that was the only reason Orsino hadn't confronted him about it. It had been unintentional, a mistake; the First Enchanter could acknowledge that, even though he would not let this man touch his ears ever again.

"Yes", the boy said simply, speaking to Orsino's ear rather than to his face. He felt the boy's guilt, his self-loathing, as well as his reluctant possessive satisfaction.

"Good, because I don't. Meredith merely told me you disobeyed orders again, and since it's apparently my duty to keep you line, I get to dole out a suitable punishment."

Her exact words had been: _I don't care what it takes, just make sure he doesn't embarrass me any further._

"Tell me exactly what happened", he ordered, and the boy shifted on his chair uncomfortably.

Orsino had heard the story before, of course, from Meredith and from witnesses, but it would be interesting to see how his mate would tell it. The boy hesitated only for a second, had clearly already decided how to begin his tale.

"This morning we were in the dungeons and they brought this apprentice in – I didn't catch her name, an elf, a few years younger than me..."

"Elaine."

"Yes. Maybe. Anyway, she had been caught smuggling letters for some apostate from outside the City, but she admitted everything when they questioned her. Still she needed to be punished, they said, and they chose me to do it."

Orsino nodded. He himself had convinced Meredith to allow the boy to take up his proper duties as a templar. The Knight-Commander had intended to give him some time to settle in, get used to his new role, and Orsino had argued for days to get her to reconsider.

He had quickly discovered that the boy was most at peace when someone gave him orders that would keep him occupied for a while, preferably ones that left him tired and exhausted by the end of the day. Otherwise he had too much time to think, to wallow in self-pity, driving himself further into depression. Orsino had lived at the Circle long enough to recognize the signs, had seen Garrett's reaction dozens of times before, but usually on mages in much more severe circumstances.

Apparently being bonded to Orsino was just as horrible as the prospect of Tranquility.

"Go on."

There was a pause as the boy tried to read his face. He continued only after Orsino gave an encouraging nod. When he spoke, his words came out in a whisper, and the First Enchanter had to ask him to repeat himself.

"Twenty lashes, they said."

The second time he still spoke quietly, but more clearly, didn't mumble it into his beard anymore. Orsino disregarded the sudden rush of shame, of panic. He had gone through all that before, this morning, when the scene had actually happened – it had been confusing enough the first time around, when he hadn't known what had caused these feelings. It had almost felt as if his mate had been _in danger_ ; he had spent most of the morning asking around whether anyone knew where the boy was, and whether he was safe.

Garrett had felt threatened, cornered, as if he had been the one about to be punished.

But just because Orsino could now read his feelings didn't mean he could comprehend _why_ Garrett experienced them. Most of the time he was guessing wildly, the boy's thought process too different from his own.

This time, however, he had a pretty good idea.

He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, suddenly painfully aware of the scars on his back and what they represented.

"And you refused?", he asked, when the boy didn't continue on his own. Garrett shook his head.

"No, not at first. They gave me the whip and the girl took off her robes. I didn't..."

Garrett faltered, and Orsino did his best to look encouraging. When the boy continued he spoke fast, his words bleeding into each other as he tried to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"After the first five hits they told me I wasn't doing it right, that I had to start to over, so I did it harder, but I only hit her twice before I threw the whip down and told them I wouldn't do it. I just couldn't. It was just... "

Ah. Now they were starting to reach the heart of the matter.

Orsino knew exactly what it was. He knew exactly what it felt like for a templar to whip a mage, what it did to an alpha to see an omega kneeling in the dirt in front of him, naked and bleeding.

"...Arousing?"

For just a second Garrett's face was blank, the boy too shocked to react. Then he shouted.

" _What?! No!_ "

He practically jumped out of his chair, knocking it over in the process. He stood in front of Orsino's desk in an unnatural posture, shoulders hunched over, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. His outrage felt genuine – which was strange, considering that Orsino had clearly felt his reaction through the bond earlier this morning.

For the first time in weeks the boy had thought of him with something akin to desire, and Orsino had been relieved for the few seconds it took for the feeling to be replaced by contempt.

Back then, it had all been in Garrett's head, and no one had confronted him about his feelings. Now, with Orsino calling his attention to it, his rejection was much more intense. The First Enchanter stiffened.

"This is - ! I would _never_ – "

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to continue talking, but no sound came out. He hadn't fled yet, but he still looked ready to; and yet Orsino felt that he couldn't, not until Garrett had made him understand why he was wrong, why he could never feel that way about a mage.

Confusion, denial, _disgust._

Orsino swallowed hard, trying to get his breathing under control.

Regaining his composure took him longer than usual because he had to do it for the both of them. The boy felt secure in his outrage, felt no reason to calm himself, and Orsino had to suppress his own irritation _and_ Garrett's anger creeping up on him.

Eventually he felt ready to speak again, and his voice hardly quivered.

"It's alright, Garrett. There is nothing wrong about your feelings", he began, and even without the bond he would have felt the disbelief radiating off his mate. "Why do you think the Chantry encourages this kind of punishment?"

The boy was clearly confused, and failed to see where he was going with this. Orsino had to remind himself that Garrett hadn't been at the Circle all that long, that no one had bothered to explain these things to him. It was merely ignorance. Yes, that had to be it.

Orsino continued, intent on educating him on the subject.

"The practice was introduced two centuries ago. It dates back to a time when knights were still expected to take vows of chastity upon coming to serve at a Circle. As you can imagine, that didn't work out all that well. Giving them the right to marry alleviated the problem somewhat, but the number of accidents that occurred was still unacceptable." He sighed. "Surely you remember how difficult it was, those first few months at the Circle. Surrounded by omegas at all times, so close but still forbidden."

He winced as he felt the boy's urge to refute, to deny his words.

"It's _alright,_ Garrett", he said, even as the boy tried once more to reject his reasoning. "Every alpha feels the same way. They can only deny their urges for so long. And unless there is a mage about to be claimed, their cravings need to be fulfilled some other way."

"You mean...?"

The First Enchanter decided to be blunt about this.

"I've been told whipping an omega is nearly as satisfying as fucking one, except there are less complications. The alphas can exert themselves next to a screaming and crying omega, and nine months later I don't have to arrange for another Circle or the Chantry to care for the result of an unwanted pregnancy. Everybody wins."

First Enchanter Orsino considered himself an expert on this particular topic. More than thirty years ago, when he had a mere apprentice, there hadn't been that many elven mages at the tower. He had not been a handsome man – not even then, not even before age and stress had started to take their toll – but he had been exotic, _different,_ and the knights had desired him anyway. So maybe they had watched him more closely than absolutely necessary; maybe they had been far too eager to catch him doing something forbidden.

And even though he had generally been a most loyal, obedient youth, he _had_ broken the rules occasionally, and the templars had always been there to punish him.

He remembered each and every scar he bore, and how and when he had gotten them. He knew why only the younger knights treated him with respect and deference, whereas the older ones practically _leered_ at him.

They all knew.

His own people didn't trust his leadership, because surely there had to be something _wrong_ with him; for who in their right mind would not learn their lesson, would continue to goad the templars after a dozen beatings? Why couldn't he simply be more careful, or even better, just _stop_ flaunting the rules at every opportunity? Why didn't he just keep his head down?

He had wondered that himself, sometimes. It would be satisfying to claim that his actions back then had served a greater purpose, that he had accomplished something that had been worth the cost. In truth, his little acts of insubordination had been entirely meaningless, and had benefited no one, least of all himself.

He had simply continued out of spite, because he refused to be cowed.

Sadly, that was not an explanation the majority of his colleagues had deemed acceptable.

They thought he encouraged the knights' behavior, enjoyed their treatment, even. It was rumored to happen sometimes, even though no mage would ever admit to it.

Templars and mages alike thought him _wanton_.

He wasn't, of course, not more than any other omega (at least, he fervently hoped so). But that hadn't mattered. He had the markings, had visible proof of his depravity for everyone to see. He couldn't stop them from judging him, not when he was constantly carrying his shame around on his back. It had been the cause of hushed whispers, lascivious comments and constant ridicule. Orsino had never wanted his mate to find out.

Then again he had never wanted to _have_ a mate in the first place.

"You can't be serious", Garrett said, and Orsino was surprised that the words failed to anger him this time, though in a way he guessed it made sense.

The boy had continued to reject him ever since they had bonded. Why should it still bother him at this point?

And yet it did bother him. The boy hadn't chosen this for himself, and while the First Enchanter had certainly not expected him to be happy about their union, the least Garrett could do was try to keep their relationship a cordial one. Orsino had certainly done his part, had even been prepared to spread his legs for Garrett again. He had given the boy more than enough chances, but his patience was wearing thin.

"I don't care whether you believe me", he snarled, his voice betraying his anger despite his efforts to conceal it. "No one will _force_ you to lay hands on an omega if you don't want to. Deny yourself as much as you want, and see where it gets you."

Orsino knew exactly where that path would end: Probably with him kneeling on the floor and Garrett mindlessly rutting into him again when he finally snapped and the urge to mount his mate became unbearable. It would be just as unrestrained as the heat, and just as painful. But the mage was above begging the former recruit to take him before it came to that just so he was able to be gentle about it.

The whole situation was humiliating enough as it was.

"I don't know what you were hoping for when you became a templar, but when a higher ranking knight gives you orders, you are expected to follow them. Do as you're told, and you will be rewarded. Refuse, and you will spend the rest of your time here sweeping the floors and helping the Tranquil lugging their wares around. You can either contribute, or you will be put in a position where you will be unable to do any harm. Those are your only options."

This was probably not the speech Meredith had wanted him to give, but if he always did what the Knight-Commander told him to he wouldn't even be here right now.

He would probably be in her bed right now, seeing to his duties as the Knight-Commander's mate.

Or he would be in the dungeons.

At least the boy was stupid, too engrossed in his own thoughts to bother examining Orsino's. At least that much had been according to plan.

"I will tell Cullen to put you on night duty for the rest of the month. Since you don't spend most of your nights sleeping, you could at least do something productive with your time. Now, if there's nothing else we need to discuss –"

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He couldn't bond with Meredith.

Even as he had agreed to the suggestion, even as he had smiled cordially at her and Elthina, he had decided he could never allow that woman to touch him.

He did not dislike her. She had not ill-treated him yet, and she was a woman, which – in Orsino's opinion – made her a much better choice than most other knights.

But she was too diligent, and the two of them had spent far too much time around each other. She knew him too well, and had been taught far too much about the bond. She was prepared and trained to do her duty, to nurture their new connection and use it to her advantage.

It might have taken her some time, but eventually she would have been able to see through his lies.

She would know all his tells, and would have discovered his secrets.

What happened then what have depended on Meredith's sense of duty. Orsino did not think he would have needed to fear Annulment – the Knight-Commander's vows would have eliminated that possibility – but surely executions would have followed; if not his own, then at least those of his collaborators. Many lives would be lost, the work of decades ruined.

He followed no particular plan. Every single day he needed to decide which options were safe and which ones too risky, helping and condemning his own people in equal measure.

He wasn't sure when exactly he had reached the point of no return. Helping Quentin escape and subsequently aiding him with his research even though he knew what purpose his experiments served might have played a big part in it. But even before that he had not exactly been a model First Enchanter: He had made phylacteries disappear, assisted with escape attempts, had contacts in Tevinter, spread lies just to confuse the knights and impede their investigations. Over time his offenses had only turned graver, and by now he had accumulated a number of them that would have Meredith honor-bound to demand his head.

No, he could never allow Meredith access to his mind.

But refusing to be bonded would only have aroused suspicion. He had needed to agree, and immediately began searching for a way out of that predicament.

It had been a mad gamble. There was no guarantee, after all, that the boy wouldn't figure him out eventually, just like Meredith would have. Maybe it would just take him longer.

Ser Karras would probably have been the better choice. The man would probably have fucked him more often, but he was not particularly observant, and would not have shown much interest in Orsino's affairs as long as his needs would have been met. Garrett Sinclair, on the other hand, was unpredictable.

He hadn't been thinking that far ahead, hadn't cared which alpha claimed him as long as it wasn't Meredith. Clearly that had been a mistake; from now on he would need to be more careful.

Even after nearly a month of being bonding to him, Orsino still wasn't sure what to think about the boy.

But perhaps that was going to change.

"Leandra Sinclair, was it?"

Every once in a while the parent of a mage came to see him to make sure their child was provided for, but this had to be the first time the mother of a templar had requested to speak with the First Enchanter for her son's sake.

She had requested this meeting a few days ago, after many fruitless attempts of wandering the courtyard and speaking to her son in private. While Meredith could theoretically order him to stop avoiding his mother, she had seen no reason to do so. Her knights personal affairs did not interest her.

But the First Enchanter had been curious. He saw no reason to deny the woman when she asked to meet him, slightly amused by the knowledge that she was now basically his mother-in-law.

He had no idea what to expect of this conversation. Perhaps the fact that her only son had bonded with a mage bothered her, and Orsino was about to be scolded for leading his innocent, darling boy astray. The thought made him smile.

Leandra Sinclair looked friendly and unassuming as she accepted the offered chair in front of his desk.

The smile she gave him was anything but.

"Actually, my name is Hawke."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who left comments or kudos or bookmarked this fic. Seeing how supportive you all were really helped me finish this story. I've had the idea floating around in my head for so long that It feels immensely satisfying to finally see it completed. 
> 
> Ashcola: I'm glad you were looking forward to an update that much. I'm generally a slow writer, so I'm afraid daily or weekly updates are impossible for me... I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long.
> 
> Jat: Yes, the pregnancy is definitely going to be big thing for Garrett. Which is why I decided not to let him deal with that right now. He has so much on his plate as it is that I went ahead and assumed the very possibility of a pregnancy simply slipped his mind. When he finally finds out, he will be both ecstatic and sick with worry - everything I've planned around that really deserves a fic of its own.
> 
> xxMad_Donaxx: Yes, I kind of figured you would like mpreg. ^^ Your fics actually made me see it in a new light. A few years I used to abhor it, but eventually grew more open minded. And I really like the idea of giving Hawke children. After everything he went through in the game, he really deserves to have a family of his own.
> 
> nohawkdown: Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver sunshine and happiness. But I hope I managed to convey that the possibility is still out there. Don't worry about graphic birth scenes: I wouldn't want to write that either, and I don't even know how tht works in detail, so I'm planning on being purposefully vague. But I definitely plan on integrating a cute half-elf child. Probably two. Eventually.
> 
> rabbitdisposal: The different between regular alpha behavior and alphas around omegas in heat was something I am also looking for in many a/b/o fics, but you're right, there really isn't much of that, which is a shame. But my Garrett is also an extreme case; if I had used Orsino's POV for the third chapter, it wouldn't have been this pronounced. I assume Orsino would have been much more comfortable with everything that happened... up until a certain point, at least.
> 
> Lalo: I think all a/b/o fics are essentually dub-con. It is as you say: Informed consent is not really possible. I've eventually to decided to call it non-con because of Garrett: Out of the two of them he is the more unwilling participant, even though he is the dominant one. Meredith's reaction was something I threw in on a whim; I don't really want to see her with Orsino, but I like the idea of them being quite fond of one another despite their differences. Also, it gives me the opportunity to write an epic fight scene should I ever get this series all the way to Act III.
> 
> yfly: Just so you know, I blame you for making me read through dozens of Loki mpreg fics... I never considered it before, but now I have a new OTP. The timing couldn't have been worse, but these last few weeks have still been awesome. So, thank you, and curse you. ^^  
> Yes, they'll definitely try to take the child away, and Garrett won't stand for it. I still haven't decided how Orsino will react. He won't be indifferent, but as you said, the Circle mages are his family, and he doesn't see why he should treat this one differently just because they are related by blood. 
> 
>  
> 
> Finally I have a few ideas for a sequel, and would like your opinions on the subject.  
> \- Should the child be a mage or not? Both options will be equally angsty, but result in different complications.  
> \- Should I stick closely to the timeline, or would you accept the explanation: "Because Garrett wasn't there to prevent X, Y happened a few years sooner than it did in-game"?  
> \- Would you like Bethany and Leandra to have a bigger role in the sequel? I ended up not including them as much as I had planned, but now I kind of like the idea that Malcolm has more dialogue than any living family member.


End file.
